Somewhere I Would Call Home
by Ripki
Summary: Fate takes a different turn. After fleeing the burning Fenland, Snow White and the huntsman choose a different path. They never meet the dwarfs, never hear the prophecy. How long can they survive hunted in the wild? And where will Snow White find her strength to fight back? Canon divergence, Snow White/Huntsman.
1. Chapter 1: Encounters

Somewhere I Would Call Home

Chapter 1: Encounters

They were two days' journey away from the burning Fenland, still many more days away from Duke Hammond's stronghold, when they met the ragtag band of travelers. Although Snow White was a mere novice at woodland life, couldn't ever hope to gain huntsman's silent feet or keen ears and sight, even for her ears they made enough noise to warn of their coming long before they appeared from behind the slight rise. The huntsman had ample time to grab her arm and tug her inside a nest of closely twisting small spruces.

"Stay there and be quiet," was all he said, before he turned to meet the approaching folk, his hands an inch away from his weapons. She couldn't see very well from behind the branches, was anxious to be some help if it became a fight, regardless of his warnings. She chanced to carefully move a branch, peeking through the small gap. Soon though, her thumping heart started to slow, for it became quite obvious that the travelers posed no threat. Her first clue was the minuscule movement of the huntsman's hands, not drawing away from his weapons, but relaxing nonetheless, not waiting the violent pull of steel anymore. The second was the voices drawing nearer, recognizably feminine and childlike.

The voices quieted as the group noticed the huntsman standing in their path. They stopped a good distance away from him, hesitant and distrustful. Snow could only just see the small group, the people tightly clinging to each other: an old couple, a middle-aged woman and three children of various ages, the smallest just a babe in the woman's arms. All were worn and haggard and clearly tired. It seemed they had come a long way, and had a longer way still to go.

"Good day," the huntsman greeted them with a level voice.

"Huntsman," the old man returned the greeting with an inclined head, but his whole stance was wary. Snow recognized the pose readily enough, for it seemed it was her own constant companion; it was the readiness to flee at the smallest notice.

"You are a long way from any road or village," the huntsman said.

The old man fidgeted, but before he could answer, the younger woman took a step forward, the children still clutching her skirt. "The roads are watched by all manner of thieves these days. We have barely anything, but what little we have, we'd like to keep."

"True enough," the huntsman said. "You'd best continue your journey then; the dark comes quickly in these parts."

With a growing frustration Snow watched as the pitiful travelers started to go, changing their direction to keep away from the huntsman. It didn't seem right to her that these people should leave so fearful, when they could maybe offer them some assistance, at the very least some kindness they were sorely in need of.

"Wait!" She stepped away from her hiding place, startling the small group. Ignoring the annoyed look the huntsman gave her, she continued, "Please, don't be alarmed. There's nothing to fear from us. Would you share our fire and bread tonight?"

"Thank you for your generous offer, but we must be on our way," the old man said, smiling a little. It seemed as Snow's appearance had released some of their apprehension. Their eyes, before so anxious, now rested on her curious and appraising. However, it had the opposite effect on the huntsman, whose hands gripped the hilts of his weapons, and whose whole stance was now tense and ready for violence. That didn't escape the travelers´ notice.

"Huntsman, I see we both carry something we'd hate to lose," the woman carrying the babe said. "If you are travelling to the north, you should know that the roads are not safe there. Duke Hammond's castle has been burnt and his people are dead or scattered."

"How?" It was the huntsman who spoke, for Snow's words were trapped inside her, held prisoner by the sudden and swift anguish.

"No one seems to know for sure. Some say there was a traitor, who opened the gates to queen's men and started the fire. Some say the guards all fell asleep and the soldiers took them by surprise," the woman said.

"There's talk of ravens circling the castle by hundreds, and the fire spreading unnaturally fast and hot," the old man told in a hushed voice. "They say the Duke was killed, tortured to death."

"What about William, Duke's son?" She finally got the words out of her, not wanting to hear, but needing to know.

"His fate is unknown," the woman said. "Maybe he managed to escape, maybe he was not there when it happened…Maybe he was the one who opened the gates."

"No, he –" Snow was ready to vehemently deny the accusation, but the huntsman interrupted her, saying, "Thank you for the news." His tone was courteous, but he was still clearly dismissing them.

The old man inclined his head again and without further farewell they started to continue their journey. She watched as they struggled among the rugged terrain, until finally they had disappeared from view. She felt strangely numb.

"I told you to stay out of sight," the huntsman said, clearly frustrated and angry.

"They wouldn't – couldn't do us any harm." Except it seemed their words had unintentionally turned her world around.

"No harm? What if in the next village they tell tales about a dark haired beauty travelling the woods with a huntsman?" She had no answer for him. He stood for a moment watching her intently, and then turned away, his eyes assessing their surroundings. "We have to keep moving. There are still a couple of hours left before dark."

"Where should we go?" She asked, and silently added, now that there's no-one to go to anymore.

"As far away from those people as possible. They make enough noise to wake the dead," he said and started walking. He had not answered her question, not really, and she suspected he didn't know the answer any more than she did. But she followed him nonetheless, for she did not know any other way.

-o-

Just before dark, they settled under some sheltering pines. She rested against the rough bark and watched as the shadows slowly merged into the twilight. He came to lean against another tree just an arm's length away from her. They had scarcely spoken after meeting the travelers. He had led the way determinedly, and she had stumbled after him, her head full of questions and doubts. She couldn't help but voice some of them now, the uncertainty a slow poison in her.

"I understand if you don't want – I mean, if you want to go your separate way. I can't promise you any gold now," she said, releasing him from his promise.

He was quiet so long she thought he would not answer, until finally he said, "You really think I'm doing this for the gold?"

"No," she told him the truth. She didn't believe that, not anymore, not after he had come back to burning Fenland and then promised to take her to Duke Hammond. But it was a different thing to guide her to a definite place, where he could leave her, than to drag her with him with no sanctuary in sight, the queen's bloodhounds hot on their heels. She told him so.

"Aye, there's a difference," he snorted. "But not as big as you think. The bloodhounds will follow us wherever we go; they would have howled outside the Duke's gates and found a way in. The queen is a hunter and knows that when your quarry goes to ground, you leave it no ground to go to."

"So I brought this on him – and all those people in his care and service." She felt sick.

"Listen to me," his voice was intense as he bent towards her. "The Duke defied her a long time, fought against her – he brought this on himself and his people. It was only a matter of time; she tolerates no opposition." She grudgingly accepted his words, but even as they eased her guilt, the dull ache of sorrow remained.

"If only we could find William…" she wished aloud, even as she knew it was impossible with no hint of his whereabouts. They would have to go their own way. "So where do we go from here?" She asked.

"We cannot go to the north anymore, it's too big a risk, nor can we go back to the east. The valleys in the south are too exposed, so there is only one direction left to go; towards the mountains in the west. They know it too, but perhaps we can still lose them in the rocky terrain," he mused. "So what do you say?"

She didn't have to think long for her answer, "To the west then."

"Alright, princess," he offered her his hand and she took it, and unlike the last time they shook hands, she knew he would guide her true. "Just Snow," she corrected him almost shyly.

"Alright, Snow," she thought she could see his smile despite the darkness as he said, "Call me Eric."

-o-

They were up at the first peek of the sun. The huntsman stretched his long limbs, took his pack from the ground and started walking. Snow forced her stiff and aching legs to follow and tried to ignore the ache of her empty stomach. She knew they would have their breakfast on the road, like every other morning. Sure enough, they had not travelled far, when he took the water bottle and the remaining bread from his pack and passed them to her, walking all the while.

She drank deep, the tepid water heavenly to her parched throat. When she had drunk her fill, she gave the bottle back to him and examined the loaf of bread. Its size had diminished alarmingly during their journey.

"Eat up," Eric urged her.

"Is this all we have left?"

"We have some dried meat for tonight, but soon I'll have to hunt," he said and then added dryly, "Or we'll have to find someone to rob." She could only hope he was joking.

As she ate, she thought of how useless she was to him even in such a simple matter as foraging them more food. Her berry gathering the day before yesterday had nearly ended in a catastrophe; luckily he had prevented her from eating them just in time, for the poisonous berries would have made her agonizingly sick. Once more, she resolved to learn.

Slowly the sun climbed higher. They walked silently, and the monotonous and automatic laboring onwards left her thoughts to drift and turn to unexpected directions as in a sleep. Snow caught herself admiring Eric's broad shoulders and strong body as she walked behind him and was glad he could not see her blush.

Her thoughts were halted, when the huntsman stopped suddenly. It all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye: one moment she was ready to inquire to the reason of the abrupt stop, the next she was being unceremoniously shoved to the ground. A clang of steel rang close to her ear, and as she turned, she saw Eric's axe blocking a sword just inches from her face. Then the huntsman pushed and drove the other man away from her, leaving her stunned on the ground.

Luckily her wits returned to her quickly, and Snow backed away hurriedly and took in the scene, her heart thumping fast and hard. They had been found, but her wildly searching eyes could only see the one man fighting with Eric, not any others.

The two men were locked in a furious combat. Weapons clashing, movements so fast they almost melted into a single blur of motion, Eric and the other man fought violently. Every thrust of sword and axe, every savage blow and kick, was meant to kill.

She watched helplessly from the sidelines, not knowing how to help best, when the fight was over as quickly and unexpectedly as it had begun. The huntsman released a quick thundering strike of his axe that the man couldn't block, then all movement ceased. The man was dead on the ground, and Eric was standing over him, breathing heavily.

"Are you hurt?" He turned towards her, his eyes raking over her figure.

"No," she met his gaze with her own worried eyes. "Are you?"

"No," he said and broke the eye contact, turning back to the body on the ground. "We don't have much time. They have probably sent other scouts to scour the terrain, and as soon as this one fails to return in time they'll know which way to go." He kneeled beside the dead man and drew a dangerous looking knife from the man's belt. He handed it to her. "This will suit you better than the sword." The knife had a long blade, as long as her forearm. She gripped the wooden hilt, trying to imagine using the weapon on someone and failing.

"Here, take this," Eric had taken of the man's belt and now offered it to her. She took it, numb, and watched as he continued to strip the corpse. He seemed to deem the water bottle, pack of food, a small leather pouch and a rolled up blanket good enough to take, and then paused to consider. "Do you want the boots?" She shook her head quickly.

"They would be too big on you anyway," Eric looked appraisingly at her feet and then started to take off the man's long black coat.

"I don't want anything," she said, and couldn't turn her eyes away from the dead man's waxen face.

"Well, nonetheless, you are going to need this," he said, tugging and pulling until the coat was free of the body. "It's colder on the mountains."

Snow couldn't fault his logic, and so she girded the knife to her new belt and then put on the coat. It wasn't overly big on her, for the man had been stocky but short. Without further ado, the huntsman continued their journey, and once again she couldn't do anything else but follow. And as they hurried further and further away from the corpse, she couldn't help but think that they had ended up robbing someone after all.


	2. Chapter 2: Wilderness

All the people, who have reviewed, alerted, favorited and read this story: thank you! You motivate me to write more.

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Chapter 2: Wilderness

The next few days Snow was on her guard, waiting for another attack to come at any moment, afraid they would be found. The huntsman did every trick he knew to throw their pursuers off their scent; they covered their tracks as much as possible, changed direction abruptly more than once and sometimes even doubled back.

Once, the magpies had shown the way. They had stopped for a brief rest, when she had noticed two magpies in a pine branch above her, twittering and playing. When they had risen to continue, the birds had flown from the branch to circle them. They had reminded her of the magpies that had helped her escape, and for a moment she had wishfully wondered if they were the same birds. It was impossible to tell, but nonetheless, when the birds had started to fly away, she had pointed after the departing magpies and said, that way. Eric had raised his eyebrows, but as he sometimes seemed to pick their direction almost randomly to confuse the chasers, he hadn't protested or even asked any questions. For once, the huntsman had been the one to follow her.

After a couple of days of fleeing and evading, and not seeing neither hide nor hair of the queen's men or anybody else for that matter, they returned to their normal pace and resumed their march towards west. It seemed that Eric's skills had prevailed over their pursuers' and their luck had held. Little by little Snow let herself relax, to believe the most acute danger had passed.

Now that every rustle of branch or cry of a bird didn't get her to palpitate from fear anymore, she started to participate in their travel much more than before. As Snow had resolved to learn all she could of surviving in the wild, she now started questioning him, asking him _why_ and _how _every time he did something that puzzled her. Eric answered grudgingly, sometimes annoyed, sometimes more easily. He explained to her patiently why other spots were better to camp for the night than others, how to tell how many hours of the day there was still left, how to navigate one's way to the right direction. She soaked up all the information gladly. Then came a day he showed her how to properly knot a rope round a pack, without her having to ask him anything.

"Look, like this," he said and proceeded to tie the rope around the food pack. They had stopped along a small stream to fill their water bottles and to eat little bits of dried meat. She watched his deft fingers attentively, and was ready to try, when he unfastened the pack again and gave her the rope.

"It's important to secure it properly, for all the animals are always trying to get to the food," Eric explained as she repeated his earlier movements. When she was done, he examined her work critically. "Good enough," he finally announced, and she couldn't help but smile broadly.

"Now, don't get cocky," he warned, grinning.

"I won't!" Snow skipped to the stream and put her hands into the cold water. Quickly, she washed her face and hands, and then she just stood there admiring the magnificent beauty of the land. The water was crystal bright as the sun reflected on its surface. The sky was light blue, not a cloud in sight. Still so far away, the great mountains, their white peaks glimmering. It seemed as if the whole world was full of light.

Despite being exhausted, hungry and hunted, she exulted in her surroundings. So long she had been in darkness, confined to a small space, alone, only her thoughts and memories for company. True, she had seen that the world could be harsh and cold and cruel, but it was amazing too; it was so wide and full of life. Every time she woke in the wilderness, it still struck her anew.

And one of these wonders was this man by her side, perplexing and puzzling, gruff and kind, safe and dangerous. Snow watched as he kneeled by the stream and then plunged his head under the water. He got up gasping for breath, water dripping from his face and hair, "Ugh, that's cold," and he shook his head like a dog shakes its wet fur. She couldn't help but giggle.

"What? Let's see how _you _like it," Eric said and started to advance towards her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I already washed," she retreated from him laughing, "in a little more civilized manner."

"I'll show you civilized –" he lunged, she squealed, and somehow there was enough force left in her weary legs that she managed to run ten whole yards before he caught her.

"It's not nice to mock your rescuer, you know," his hands took hold of her waist as he pressed her back against his chest. "It's very poor manners."

"Yes, yes – very poor manners… I'm, I'm sorry," It was hard to speak as she was still shaking with laughter.

"Now, I'll need something for reparation," he claimed.

"Well, as I have injured you most grievously, good sir, I'll gladly make reparations."

"Still mocking me?" His hands tightened around her. "Then, I'll settle for a kiss from a fair lady."

Snow wasn't laughing anymore. Heart hammering, body trembling, she turned to face him as he let her go, ready to peck him on the cheek. But his face had become severe, his eyes grave.

"No, you owe me nothing," the huntsman said. Before she could think of anything to say, he started to turn back to the stream for their abandoned gear. She stood as rooted to the spot, until he snapped, "Come, we have wasted enough time!" Then she followed him, her mind full of confusion, not knowing what to think and feel.

-o-

The rest of the day went by in silence.

They only stopped for a brief rest once, and the atmosphere, as they drank their stream water, was so oppressive she was glad to continue walking. Snow couldn't even begin to try to lighten the mood, to fix what was broken, for she didn't really understand what was wrong. She didn't know how they had gone from jesting to sulking in the blink of an eye.

She was resigned to continue the silence as they settled in for the night, but to her bewilderment, he suddenly started a conversation.

"Where did she keep you?" the huntsman asked gruffly, as in spite of himself.

Snow didn't much like the subject, but after only a brief hesitation she answered, "Top of the north tower, in a cell." She was relieved and glad that the silence had been broken, and deemed that even unpleasant topics were better than none.

"All that time?"

"Yes," It was hard to continue, but she forced the words out, "I was – alone. The guards would not speak to me. He didn't speak to me either. But…sometimes she would come and tell me how lucky I was not to get my heart broken. I don't know why she kept me in there – why she didn't kill me."

"That _bitch_," he said vehemently. She was reminded that he also had had less than pleasant dealings with the queen.

"I'm sorry you couldn't get your wife back."

"Just as well – she would have given me hell for trading her life for another's." Eric tried to sound nonchalant, but failed. She wondered what kind of woman his wife had been to inspire such love from him, and her heart throbbed as she thought if anyone would ever love her like that.

"I'm sorry," he continued, embarrassed, "I should never have agreed to that deal. It definitely wasn't one of my finest moments."

"But then you wouldn't have been there to save me," she pointed out.

"True. Instead, I would be in a warm tavern somewhere, drinking myself to a welcome oblivion," he said, straight-faced. For a moment she didn't know how to react, but then the smallest of grins formed on his face, and she smiled.

"Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow," he told her. It was a promise, and so she could close her eyes with a lighter heart.

-o-

That night, it started to rain. She woke up soaked to the bone, shivering with cold. Eric didn't seem to fare any better. He rose up muttering inventive swearwords that made her blush, even though she agreed with his sentiment wholeheartedly. The weather really was the most wretched damned –

They huddled beneath some pines as they ate their meager breakfast, the sharp wind blowing the rain straight at them. It was almost a relief to continue the journey, as it was colder to stand still than walk. Snow stumbled over the rocky terrain, trying to wrap the coat even more tightly around her slight frame. As bitter as it was to admit, she was glad to have the dead man's coat. With every step, she told herself that soon the rain would stop and the sun would warm them up.

She was wrong. The rain was relentless. It seemed to continue forever, day and night, icy and biting. Everything they had was soon sodden: their clothes and boots, the blanket, even what little remained of their food. She was worried that their dwindling food supplies would soon run out, but at the same time she almost guiltily wished it. For then Eric would have to hunt, and for them to eat whatever he caught, they would have to cook it first. That meant chancing a fire; lovely, warming, blazing fire. She had thought she knew what cold was, and that she could never be as cold as she had been in her stone cell in the depths of winter, when her small fire in the hearth had gone out, and her woodpile had been empty, but now she was cold to the bone, all the time, the water and wind seeping into her very being.

Snow tried to keep up with the huntsman's pace, knowing he had already had to travel much more slowly than if he were by himself, but the ever growing exhaustion hampered her steps, made her clumsy and slow. The days seemed to go on as in a fog, a peculiar dream; she struggled along, stopped when he stopped, walked when he walked. When they came to rest for the night, she curled in on herself, the wet blanket over her shaking body, and despite the rain, with the next breath she was already asleep, the exhaustion pulling her under. And yet, when the night turned into morning, she didn't feel rested and had to force herself up. So the cycle repeated itself, endlessly. She had no idea how he managed, when it seemed he never even slept; he was still awake when she fell asleep and was always there to wake her up.

The world seemed muted and grey through the rain. Also quieter; all the animals, small and big, had fled to their shelters, and only they remained, alone in the world. If only they had their own small warm den, where they could curl up and sleep until all the rain and hardship had gone away.

Her sluggish thoughts were halted, when she bumped into the huntsman. He had stopped suddenly, and it took her a minute to see what had made him stop. They had cleared a small patch of stunted trees, and now, right in front of them, at the foot of the hill, was a small cabin. She exclaimed in surprised delight. Her wish had come true.

Snow forced herself to follow Eric's lead, and with cautious steps they approached the cabin. As they got nearer, she noticed it was just a tiny hut, put together from wood and stone. Its roof slanted alarmingly towards the ground, and the front door was ajar. Eric went in first; he pushed the door open with only one hand, for the other gripped the hilt of his axe. However, the hut was quite empty, and it was clear it had been so for some time. There was muck and old leaves on the floor. Some animals had been there, had made their own nests in the shadowy corners. The hut was just one small room without any windows; there was a cot in the corner with scraps of old sheet, and a tiny table next to it. They seemed ready to collapse at any moment. There was no other furniture. But on the opposite wall to the bed, there was the sweetest sight she had ever seen: a simple hearth, no more than a few stone slabs against stone.

"Can we stay here," she begged, "just for a little while?"

But he was already shaking his head, dashing her hopes, "Just for a moment to rest. It's too exposed, too obvious. This is the first place they'll look for us."

She felt like crying out in disappointment, and fought to control her emotions, not wanting to cry in front of him. She knew he was right; they couldn't risk it, not just because they were wet and cold. Resolutely, she told herself that it couldn't rain forever. And so she sat on the cot listening to the steady beat of rain against the roof, and when he indicated it was time to go, she rose without protest and followed him outside.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Somewhere along the way time lost its meaning, and the everlasting ache turned into piercing squeezing pain. The world tilted and turned, and then finally, the darkness rushed to enfold her like a great soft blanket.


	3. Chapter 3: Shelter

Chapter 3: Shelter

Everything hurt. She was floating in the darkness, its heavy press pulling her down to the deep. There was something she should have remembered, but it eluded her, and frustrated, she let it go, and it slipped from her grasp into nothingness. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't.

Sometime later, or maybe the very next second, she found herself watching the grey world from an odd angle. One by one, the pieces came to her, and laboriously she tried to slot them to the right places. She was being carried, she had escaped, and it had rained. It still rained, and she had probably fainted, and the huntsman, Eric, was carrying her somewhere. He grunted and muttered to himself, and she thought to say something, but no words came. The pain drove them all away.

And then she recognized where they were, saw the hut getting closer, and with alarm, weakly, she tried to tell him that they couldn't risk it. The words came out as a low moan.

"Shush…It's all right. Don't worry," he said. She trusted him, so she closed her eyes again, too tired to watch or think or move or speak.

When she next came to, the rain had stopped and it was dark. They were inside the hut. She was sitting on the small cot, and he was holding her up by her shoulders and saying something – could she – and it took her awhile to decipher that he wanted her to take off her wet clothes, and what a splendid idea that was.

But her fingers were numb and clumsy and couldn't find any purchase, and then he was deftly opening the fastenings of her bodice and trousers and pulling them off, the wet cloth and leather clinging to her skin and leeching all the warmth. When he let go off her, she toppled to the bare cot with only her shift still on.

Faintly, as from behind a thick curtain, she watched as he hastily and with great force started to demolish the tiny table next to the bed. He threw the pieces of wooden table on to the hearth and then kneeled before it, seemingly a long time, striking a flint and swearing all the while. She wanted to tell him that there was no hurry; she didn't feel cold anymore and the tenuous pain was just an irritating throb at the back of her head. Everything was pleasantly numb. But before she could get the words out of her, the dark leeched all others out, and she was alone again.

-o-

For a long time, Snow was alone, until she wasn't.

The ravens were circling, crying, searching. They were searching for her, and within their sharp peeks and glossy wings they carried the queen's black fury and dark desperation. Snow crouched low, so low to the ground and willed herself to become invisible. She was lost in the vast wilderness, the land hiding her from view. They could not see her.

"Don't go so far, my love," her mother said, and pricked Snow with her needle. Red blood welled up from her fingertip. Her mother looked at it curiously and asked, "Does it hurt?" Snow shook her head and sucked the blood from her finger. It didn't hurt anymore. She turned away to find William to play with, and behind her, her mother admonished, "Snow White, remember not to go so far."

Snow skipped along the long hallways, up the stairs, up and up and up, until she was in the north tower. She was sitting on her cot, and the queen was standing behind the closed door, looking at her through bars. She was young and beautiful.

"You possess a rare beauty," the queen murmured and reached out her hand towards Snow, "in your heart." Her heart thumped like the great waves below, and the queen's eyes were alight with hunger. The hand stretched, unnaturally long, towards her, searching.

"What do you want from me?" Snow whispered, the darkness spreading over wall and floor and land.

The queen withdrew her hand rapidly, her face becoming one with shadows. "What a pity," she said to Snow. "He's going to break your heart. That's all they ever do."

"Yes," the queen's brother said, his hand pressing Snow down, making it hard for her to breathe. "_He_ is going to take your beating heart."

Thousand needles pricked her and it hurt. Snow couldn't help but cry out, and she crawled into her father's lap. He shushed her and smoothed out her tangled tresses. Her mother was watching them from the small window of a cell, her face being leeched of all life, the smooth brow aging, a hundred worry lines appearing, her dark hair whitening, falling off. Snow cried in dismay. "Don't cry, dearheart," her father said, "I'm going to give you a new mother."

The queen took hold of her hand and said, "We are going to be the very best of friends." The ravens flew from her, all over the wide land, circling, crying, searching.

Far away, the mountains cast their great shadows, and in the deep, the secret slumbered. She wanted to go find it.

"Don't go so far, my love," her mother said, but Snow didn't hear; she was already out the door.

-o-

When Snow opened her eyes, shadows danced on the walls of the hut, and a small flame quivered in the hearth. She was wrapped in a dry blanket, and he was lying behind her, his arms around her, warming her up, and suddenly tears were finding their way down her cheeks, and then she was weeping in earnest.

"Hey now, it's alright; you are going to be fine. Everything is fine," he sounded alarmed, and she wanted to tell him that it had been seven years, seven long unbearable years, since someone had held her this close, had held her safe. "Don't cry, dearheart," he whispered into her hair. She only cried harder.

Eric rubbed her arms, telling her all the while that soon she would feel better, and then he took hold of her palm, enfolding his big hands around hers. Snow felt so tired, her limbs leaden and heavy. He was warm and solid and real behind her, his arms anchoring, holding her firmly, keeping her from flying away. Knowing that she was safe, she let her tears run dry and closed her eyes to sleep once more.

It seemed she slept a long time. Every time she tried to rouse herself to true wakefulness, Eric was there, giving her water and small bites of food to eat, and then urging her to sleep once more. She had a strange notion that they had something they had to do, somewhere to be, but Eric seemed to think it would keep, so she let all the hurried half-thoughts to dissolve. And although she wanted to ask him so many things, the heavy pull of sleep proved too irresistible.

-o-

Snow woke, restless with strange dreams, and she knew straight away that she was alone. The still burning embers in the hearth cast enough light for her to see that no one else was in the hut with her. For a moment, she felt a sudden horrible loss she couldn't understand, until she realized that all their gear was still in the hut, as if a sign from him telling her that he would return.

Slowly, she rose to a sitting position, her muscles protesting. Every bone still ached, but she felt so much better than before. The piercing cold had gone; the slivers of ice had melted from her soul. Still, it was cool in the cabin, her shift and the blanket not enough against the cold air coming inside from numerous cracks and gaps in the walls. There was a small pile of twigs next to the hearth, and she put her bare feet to the floor, meaning to coax the fire back to life.

The door opened, and the huntsman strode inside. Instantly seeing her, he paused, and surprise and relief flashed briefly on his face, before his lips pursed and his eyes darkened.

"You shouldn't be up," he said, dangling two dead rabbits in his hands.

"I think I have slept enough," Snow wanted to sit and look at the fire, she wanted his company; it didn't matter whether he was silent or talkative, nice or morose.

"Well, don't keep your feet on the cold floor," Eric grunted, "I have just nursed you from one sickness, I don't fancy doing it again." He put the rabbits in the corner, and then crouched in front of the hearth, efficiently getting the fire started again.

Sighing, Snow yielded enough to draw her feet back beneath the blanket. She kept sitting though, and watched as he bustled around the hut. He looked tired, worn out with exhaustion and worry and a past she didn't know anything about but could only guess. She felt a sudden guilt twist her insides into knots.

"I'm sorry – to be such a burden." Tears tried to force their way out of her, but she resolutely pushed them back.

"Don't be," he said dryly, "You actually weigh very little."

"I meant –" He very well knew what she meant. She tried again. "We must have been here some time. I…I fear the risk wasn't worth it. What if they'll catch up with us?"

"And what if they do? Better that than you being dead from cold and exhaustion." The huntsman sounded angry. He paced the small cabin, restless, not looking at her.

"Thank you, for taking care of me." Snow couldn't have said anything else. Her heartfelt words seemed to calm Eric somewhat down. He stilled and turned to look at her, serious and pensive.

"Don't thank me," he said, "I have pushed you relentlessly, and never once have you complained. You have borne it all bravely."

She felt elevated, inexplicably happy to get such praise from him. She searched for right words, but suddenly her stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the earnest moment. Eric smirked, "Good thing I caught those rabbits. You sound like you need a proper meal." He caught her blush and added more gently, "It won't take long; I'll just skin them first and then we can roast them."

"Will you show me?" This was one essential skill she had yet to learn.

He sighed, "If I must." He sounded put upon, but she knew him well enough by now to know that he didn't really mind. "But stay on that cot," he ordered. Then he paused to consider something and soon continued, "And put your clothes on. They are dry again." He gestured to a bundle of neatly folded clothes that had been carefully laid on top of one of the packs.

"So – I am to stay _here_, and put on the clothes that are _over there_?" She just couldn't help it.

Eric growled, snagged the clothes and tossed them to her lap. Then he turned around, away from her, quite pointedly.

"Are you sulking?" She sniggered.

He turned to look at her with a devilish smile, "I thought to not watch as you dress, but if you insist…"

She felt herself blushing again, clutching her clothes, and not knowing anything clever to say. After a moment, he took pity on her and turned back to face the hearth, and quickly, heart hammering, she fumbled and rushed to get her trousers and bodice on. She didn't know why she was now so flustered, for he must have helped her with her clothes when she was sick, had in all probability seen her in barely nothing, had held her to warm her up.

When she was decently clothed, they resumed their normal interaction; he started to skin the rabbits, explaining his actions with short words, and she watched him attentively, trying to memorize all he told. In no time, the pieces of meat were being roasted over the fire, and the delicious smells got her mouth to water in anticipation. She hadn't had hot food in – well, in a very long time.

They ate their meal in silence, savoring the food and hungrily eating every bite. After, Snow rested in the cot warm and dry, her belly full, and felt content. He sat on the floor next to the fire, leaning on the wall, eyes half-closed.

"So, how many days have we been here?" She asked.

"This will be the third night," Eric said, "So far there hasn't been any sign of anybody else in the vicinity, but that's likely to change the longer we stay here."

"We'll leave tomorrow morning then," she stated.

"Only if you're up to it," he countered.

"I will be," Snow promised and hoped that it would be true. They fell into a comfortable silence, and she let her thoughts drift to the building that had given them much needed shelter. It was in a dire need for repairs; someone had neglected it for a long time. "Who do you think lived here?" She wondered.

"This is probably some old hunter's hideout. Likely he lived here while catching game to sell to towns. "

"Did you live in a place like this?" She wanted to know where he had lived, what he had done, where he had come from; she wanted to know everything about him.

"No, we –" he stopped suddenly, as if realizing what he had said. After a heavy pause, during which Snow held her breath in anticipation, he decided to continue. "We had a nicer place, small, but…a proper house." He sounded melancholy.

She gathered courage for a moment, and then plunged ahead, asking, "What happened to your wife?"

The silence that followed her question was heavy and tense. His face, half in shadow, was rigid, and for a moment he seemed a total stranger to her, unfamiliar and terrifying. But then he started to speak, and although his voice was tight with repressed pain, he became Eric again with every word.

"I went hunting. I left her alone. When I came back, she was gone – she had been taken. And I…I searched everywhere for her. I asked and threatened and persuaded people, until finally somebody told me that he had seen some soldiers take her away. With a right price, he could be coaxed to remember what they looked like and where they had gone." He had a far-away look in his eyes.

"And I found them," he gave a short, horrible laugh, "And before I killed them, they told me where I could find my wife – in a paupers' cemetery." As Snow listened to him, her heart filled with his sorrow and guilt and pain, making her weep silent tears. And still, the worst was yet to come.

"I knew – I knew she was dead, I could feel it, but I had to make sure. So I made the gravedigger show me, where they had buried my Sara, and then I dug her up. I had to see. She was in a shallow grave, there was no coffin. But too much time had passed and she – she was all…I recognized her dress, and she had her pendant."

She imagined him, desperate and furious and grief-stricken, digging the woman he loved up from the ground. In that moment, she knew she had to take care of him as he had taken care of her.

"They never did say _why_, not even after everything I did to make them talk," he sounded hollow, "I guess it was simply because they could." Eric fell into silence, done talking, and closed his eyes.

And although she didn't want anything half as much as she wanted to comfort him, to make his pain disappear, she also knew that there was absolutely nothing she could say or do to make any of it any better.


	4. Chapter 4: Found

Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews!

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Chapter 4: Found

Snow thought that she couldn't possibly sleep after hearing Eric's confession, but the next thing she knew after closing her eyes was him gently shaking her shoulder. It was early morning, and the huntsman had already put out the fire and packed their gear. He looked at her questioning, assessing her state, and bleary-eyed, she got up. Snow stretched her arms stiffly, groaning as a particularly painful knot unraveled in her neck.

"I'm –" She gave a big yawn, "fine. We can go."

He smiled. "Yeah, I can see. You're back to being your normal drowsy self in the mornings."

"And you probably stayed up all night, as usual," she muttered, pulling her boots on.

"I did not," he sounded disgustingly cheerful, his whole demeanor wakeful and ready for the new day, "but you know what they say about early birds."

"I'm not eating worms," she declared.

"Actually, they are not that bad," Eric said, straight-faced, "I'm sure we are going to have ample opportunities to try them in the future. But meanwhile –" He tossed her a packet wrapped with a piece of cloth, "eat your breakfast."

Curiously, she unfolded it, finding a chunk of previous night's roasted rabbit.

"I didn't know there was any left!" She exclaimed in delight.

"Well, I saved some, knowing what a bottomless pit you are."

"I am not!" Snow denied, indignant, but her growling belly chose rather unfortunately just that particular moment to announce its hunger.

He smirked, "You were saying?"

She pointedly ignored him and sat on the cot, cradling the precious bundle on her lap. But as she was about to eat, a troubling thought occurred to her, and she paused. "Have you eaten your share of this?"

"I already ate my breakfast," he answered.

The choice of words didn't escape her notice. "What did you eat?"

Eric sighed, "It's not your concern."

"I just made it my concern," she said, determined and a little angry.

"You need the fresh meat more than me," he snarled, and then continued more levelly, "I had a sufficient breakfast before you woke. Dried meat and lovely berries, if you must know."

Snow watched him, trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth, for she rather suspected his breakfast had been a lot meager than what he made it sound. He looked back unflinching and resolute. She looked at the meat longingly, then at him, and sighed, "Alright, but just this once. From now on, we share everything evenly."

"Don't worry," he flashed a bright and devastating smile, "If I get hungry, I'll find some worms." Unwilling to bicker over it further, Snow let his remark go without an answer, but silently she resolved to make sure he would eat his share of their food from then on.

It took her barely a minute to wolf down her breakfast. After that there was no reason to delay their departure from the cabin any longer. They picked up their gear, stepped outside and were ready to go. She wondered if it would always be like that; their stay fleeting and temporary, in abandoned and forgotten places, ready to move on at a moment's notice.

The morning was misty and cool, but it didn't rain. She knew now to be fervently grateful for that. The world seemed somehow new and mysterious, as if a few days inside a dim hut had made her forget the wilderness surrounding them. Snow laid her eyes around her, surprised once again by the vastness, by the possibility.

As they left the cabin behind them, she wondered if the place had felt so safe and familiar, because it had in some way reminded her of her cell. The thought was discouraging. But perhaps those feelings weren't tied to a particular place at all, but people. Those feelings hadn't really disappeared with the small hut; she kept pace with them, followed their every step.

Eric turned to look at her, "Alright?"

"Yes," She answered, the warmth in his eyes heating her up to the marrow.

-o-

The overcast morning turned into a sunny afternoon. Soon the misery of the endless rain and cold was just another memory in the corner of her mind, getting lost among all the dark images that dwelt there. Snow found herself enjoying their trek; the sun shone gently to warm her up, and the nature had woken and blatantly displayed all its charms. Moreover, even though the terrain was getting rougher with every step and they had to go up various hills and rocks more often than not, their going was still somehow easier than before. She realized that their pace was much slower than usual, and she knew he kept is so for her sake. Eric also kept a close eye on her, offering a hand to steady her, steering her clear of unsteady footholds and treacherous ground. Snow didn't know whether to be annoyed or glad.

They changed a few words sporadically; mainly it was her exclaiming about some new wondrous thing she saw or asking him about the plants around them. He answered with a wordless grunt or few sparse words. It didn't bother her, anything but; it was companionable, familiar, easy. It was as if they had known each other for years instead of a few weeks. It was as if they were friends. She hadn't had a friend in so long; she almost had forgotten what it felt like to have one. One to trust in, to laugh with, to share with. It felt good.

She didn't try to curb her smile, when next he looked at her to make certain she still followed him without difficulty. She knew she was grinning like a loon, but his inquiring look only made her grin more.

"You're in a good mood," he remarked.

"It's a good day," she said. Eric shrugged his shoulders, as if to tell it was all the same to him. Suddenly, Snow wanted him to understand.

"The sun is shining, everything is looking so beautiful, this space…" She explained, fumbling for right words. "I am here, free, and you are – you are with me, and I…I feel happy." They had stopped, and he was looking at her, his eyes inscrutable as always. She laughed, "Despite everything, this is the happiest I have been in a very long time."

Eric swallowed and confessed, "Me too." It seemed the words were dragged out of him almost against his will; his face clouded over, and he quickly resumed walking, not looking back at her. She was left to wonder at the way he could make her heart speed up, stir her thoughts to uncomfortable frenzy.

Her smile dimmed the further they walked as her abused body made known its displeasure. The aches and pains intensified, reminding Snow that strength was taking its time to fully return. She tried to quell her frustration and disappointment in her limitations; she would do better in the future.

Once again, a steep slope rose to meet them. As they started to climb, some of the rocks came loose, rolling down. Eric slowed down, cautiously finding steady footholds, advising her to follow his footsteps precisely. Snow watched his every move, stepping into spots he had just vacated. With painful slowness, they went forward, but this time she was definitely glad about their leisurely pace, for the slope was much steeper than it had first looked. Behind them was a sheer, horrifying drop.

Suddenly a cloud of black ravens came out of nowhere, flying low over them, cackling and calling loudly. They startled her, and losing her concentration, she stepped on to the wrong rock. It came loose under her weight, and she quickly lost her balance. Terrified, Snow teetered backwards, desperately trying to remain upright, to get some purchase. It was a losing battle; she was going to fall.

Then a strong hand took hold of her arm firmly, halting her body's involuntary momentum backwards. Eric steadied her, and then pulled her to him, onto more secure ground.

She was shaking; he continued to hold her by the arm, his grip almost bruising.

"I've got you," he said, and she noticed her fingers had somehow come to cling to his shirt. "I've got you," he repeated, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, let go of her. As ever, she followed his lead, and forced herself to release her hold of him. She turned her eyes to the sky, but it was empty. The ravens had disappeared to the horizon, but she still felt uneasy, exposed.

As if reading her mind, the huntsman assured, "They're just birds, nothing more." But his face was solemn, his eyes worried, and she knew he didn't believe his own words.

-o-

After getting down the slope, they quickened their pace. The terrain was once again flatter, the surrounding knolls presenting an easy slight rise that they climbed with haste. The mountains were much closer now, and Snow thought they would surely reach them in the next few days. How they would fare there, she didn't want to think about; the mountain range rose impenetrable and inhospitable, the peaks looking severe and merciless. But Eric would undoubtedly know how to navigate them, how to survive in the harsh mountains. She realized she hadn't thought what they would do once reaching their target. Where would they go from there? Was there a place for them somewhere, far enough from the queen?

In mutual unspoken understanding they didn't stop, although the grassy hills looked enticing, inviting them for a brief rest. They drank from the half-empty water bottle without slowing, and skipped their meal altogether. Snow's eyes were constantly drawn to the sky; searching the ominous black shapes, but finding only wispy clouds. Maybe the ravens had been just ordinary birds, she told herself. Not all the ravens of the land could be in _her_ service. She was only being paranoid.

Just as Snow had herself almost convinced that they had overreacted to the birds, Eric stopped suddenly. He tilted his head as if to listen carefully, and her eyes automatically rose to the sky. It was still empty. But then she heard it too; a steady pounding, a distant thunder that was coming closer. With alarm, she recognized the sound of hooves. At that very moment, a group of riders emerged from behind a hill.

"Run!" Eric shouted and took hold of her arm, dragging her along. They had certainly been seen; they were in the open, there was no cover, no places to hide.

Snow ran, heart beating wildly, painfully. Leaping over rocks, almost stumbling, she forced her legs to go faster. Still, the sound of hooves got louder, the riders gaining ground.

It was hard to draw air, her lungs burned. She tripped, but Eric didn't let her fall. He had a grip on her arm still, and forced her forward. But even as they ran, she knew it to be futile. They couldn't win this race. If only the mountains had been closer, they could have vanished where the horses could not follow.

It seemed that the huntsman had come to the same hopeless conclusion, for all of a sudden he let go of her arm, and wheeled around to face their pursuers. Surprised, she had already rushed well past him, before she got her legs to come to a halt.

"Eric!" He had drawn his weapons; the riders were coming closer. There were seven of them, all on horseback. They were too many.

"You run!" He yelled, without looking at her, his eyes trained on the approaching men.

"No!" She couldn't run, not with him making a mad, suicidal stance.

"Dammit!" He was furious, "I have a better chance if you draw some of them after you – now, run!"

For one horrible moment she wavered between the two options, until she broke into a run, hoping against all hope that she could really give him a chance to survive. It was true that they wanted her badly; maybe they would all just follow her, leaving him behind.

She darted forward, the heavy rush of fear giving her more strength. Behind her, horses screamed in pain and the familiar clang of steel rang like the loudest of shouts. Snow was already regretting her decision. She risked a quick look behind her, and seeing two riders getting nearer, she continued her mad dash, disappointed. Only two! That left five with Eric. Her heart couldn't clutch at the feeble hope anymore. They were too many.

Hearing the riders approaching, she waited until they were almost alongside of her. Then she wheeled quickly around, and desperately grabbed at any purchase she could find, her hands getting a grip of a belt. The momentum of the running horse almost yanked her arm out of its socket, the pain was blinding and terrible, but she hung on, tugging and pulling. Then the pressure suddenly eased and the rider tumbled to the ground with a curse.

The time of running was over; she drew her knife, terrified.

The rider was still on the ground, dazed. Snow forced herself to step up to him, despair and dread spreading to engulf her. She already knew she couldn't kill him.

Then someone yanked her by the arm, twisting painfully until she was forced to drop her knife. She had forgotten the other rider; he had dismounted and had taken her completely by surprise. Snow wriggled and kicked, trying to free herself from his rough hold. His other arm locked around her throat, almost cutting of her air.

"Now, now, be a good girl," a hoarse voice said right next to her ear. Furious, she sank her teeth into his arm. He howled, and she repeated her action, adding a hard kick to his ankles for good measure. The man cursed and his hold on her slackened. Snow pulled herself free, the urgent need to flee suppressing all else.

She only got a few feet away, and then the man was on her again, grabbing her hair, pulling her back. Next, she was on the ground, and the man was looming over her, grinning.

"You're not going to run from me again," he said, eyes full of malice. "The queen wants you alive, but she didn't say anything about all your pretty pieces being intact." He drew a sharp knife from his belt and put it against her cheek. The metal was cold on her skin.

Suddenly the man stiffened, and his eyes glazed over. A most curious sound emerged from his lips, like a soft sigh, a small breath. It was the life abandoning him, escaping into nothingness, leaving the man's body to topple to the side, empty.

The rider she had pulled from the horse drew a sword from the man's back. The blade was red. She scrambled backwards, still on the ground, trying to get away from him, away from the dead man.

"It's alright!" The rider exclaimed, holding out his free hand to her. "I'm William!"

She stared at him, the sight so inconceivable, she was struck dumb.

"It's me," he swore, "I'm William."


	5. Chapter 5: Friction

Thank you so much for your encouraging reviews! I am on holiday and my internet access is sporadic at best, so I haven't been able to respond to your reviews individually. But I want you to all know I deeply appreciate them.

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Chapter 5: Friction

Snow looked at his face, this man that claimed to be William, her heart still beating fiercely, ready to flee. She didn't know what to think, everything in her was muddled, stunned. Could it really be William?

"Snow, it's alright now," the young man repeated, his voice so very earnest, "I promise."

She tried to get her rushing feelings, her tangled thoughts under control. Who else could it be? He had saved her just moments ago, and didn't appear to be any threat to her. And why would he claim to be her old childhood friend if he wasn't? Hope and joy were starting to push out her panic, she was so glad to see him, and maybe everything really would be alright now. Maybe they could survive this fight.

"Eric!" She remembered and surged to her feet, panic back in full force. Desperately, she looked around, searching the surrounding area for his familiar shape. To her utter relief she saw him in the distance, still upright and moving. He was locked in a fight with one of their pursuers. Without further thought, Snow picked up her knife from the ground and started to run towards the huntsman.

"Snow!" The man – William – shouted behind her, "What are you doing?"

"We have to help him!" She yelled back, not stopping, her eyes fastened on Eric.

It seemed to her the huntsman moved slower than usual, his blows and strikes didn't appear to have the same thundering strength she had seen before. She rushed forward, not having any thoughts on how she could help him, just knowing that she had to try. The nearer she got, the more convinced she became that something was wrong. He was clearly tiring, his movements more sluggish, and to her horror she saw him stumble slightly.

Snow was only a few yards away, when there was a swishing sound, and suddenly the man Eric was fighting with toppled to the ground. Eric looked as stunned as she felt. She came to a halt, lungs burning, trying to draw air, feelings in disarray. An arrow was lodged in the man's back, and she turned to see William lowering his bow, scowling.

With a few quick strides, Eric was by her side, "Are you alright?"

She struggled to get the words out, her heart still pounding madly. She nodded vigorously, all the while measuring him with her eyes, trying to ascertain if he was badly hurt. "Yes…You?"

"I'm fine," Eric said, his attention already on William, who had come to stand behind her. The huntsman's gaze was hard and penetrating, and his stance hadn't relaxed an inch; he still held his weapons ready. "Who are you?"

"I think the more pertinent question would be who are _you_?" William bristled, and Snow noticed how he gripped his bow tightly.

"He's William," she explained, trying to defuse the sudden tension, "Duke Hammond's son."

"Are you certain?" Eric asked. His voice was low and urgent, and she knew she had to be sure before she gave her answer. So she tried to remember what a young William had looked like, how he had been, and tried to fit that image to the young man, who had undoubtedly helped them. Truth was that she didn't really remember much of what William had looked like. Instead, she had this general picture in her head of how they had played together and fought and bickered, how they had been best of friends, always together. But time was harsh and unforgiving; even good memories faded however much you tried to keep them alive. Still, he felt familiar, and his intense eyes looked at her as if he knew her intimately, wounded that she didn't immediately confirm his identity.

"Yes," she said, certain now, and proceeded to introduce her new friend to her old one, "and this is Eric. He saved my life."

"Tell me William," the huntsman was clearly still tense, distrustful, "how did you come to ride with the queen's men?"

William seemed to deflate a little under the harsh glare, recognizing that his unexpected appearance raised doubts in the current circumstances. He directed his words to Snow, "When I heard that you had escaped, and that the queen was hunting you, I had to find you." He swallowed and continued, almost pleadingly, "I…I thought you were dead, and the minute I heard – I volunteered to be their bowman, and I waited that they would lead me to you. And they did."

"Are there more men?" Eric demanded to know.

"No," William said, "this was all that remained of the search party." Snow looked around them, for the first time really seeing the dead littering the terrain. The man, who had attacked her, lay where they had left him, but there were five other bodies scattered near them, and three of them had been pierced by arrows.

Eric seemed to also acknowledge William's contribution, for he reluctantly admitted, "Good work."

"Well, I had been hankering to shoot them for our entire journey," William confessed, continuing grudgingly, "You evaded us skilfully. I had already begun to despair that we had lost you to the mountains."

"You would have had we not been detained," Eric said, not elaborating further. "Do you know why we didn't continue to your father's stronghold?"

"You must have heard then," William's voice was flat, but there was a terrible pain in his eyes.

"We heard that Duke Hammond's castle had been taken, the rebellion crushed, the Duke himself dead," Eric said sharply. Snow glared at him, not seeing any point in this cruel questioning, but the huntsman continued mercilessly, "Which begs the question: Where were you when all that happened?"

"Hunting you!" William burst out, glowering at his interrogator.

However, Eric was not yet done, "Why didn't you rush to your father's side, when you learnt what had happened?"

"And what could I have done there? The castle had already been lost, my father dead – the most important thing was to find her!" William exclaimed, "And the resistance is _not_ crushed, we are still many. All is not lost, not when the rightful heir is among us." He looked at her with such naked hope and adoration that Snow suddenly felt very self-conscious, mindful of her every fault and shortcoming.

"Really? I do not see many people here filling the ranks – only dead men and you," Eric remarked dryly, "Where is your resistance?"

"I'll show you," William huffed, "At least you have walked in the right direction. Did you think we have just one stronghold? We have a hiding place not far from here, at the base of those mountains. There is shelter, supplies and weaponry – there is my resistance. Good enough for you?"

"We'll see," was all Eric said.

"With horses, we'll be there tomorrow by nightfall," William assured.

"If we can catch any," the huntsman remarked. The horses had all fled, and Snow didn't see any sign of the animals.

"They have not gone far," William sounded certain.

Eric smirked, "You should go find them then, so we can be on our way, before the crows and others come to claim the dead."

"And what are you going to do?" William asked suspiciously.

"I am going to rob some bodies," the huntsman said, "and Snow's going to help me. She's an old hand at that."

"I told you there are plenty of supplies back at –"

"Back at your hide-out. So you said. But it's a crime to let good provisions go to waste," Eric's grin was sharp, his eyes hard.

"She should come with me," William insisted.

"She'll –" But they never heard what the huntsman was going to say, for Snow had had enough of their bickering.

"_I_ will decide for myself," she said firmly, "William, would you please get the horses? Meanwhile, we'll gather the supplies. I would like to leave this place as soon as possible."

William looked none too happy, but he followed her request without further protest. When he was out of earshot, disappearing behind a ridge, Snow gave voice to her exasperation, "What on earth was that?"

"I don't trust him. Have you forgotten what the people said? That a traitor opened the gates to Hammond's stronghold?" Eric looked at her, his eyes intense, as if willing her to see his point.

"They didn't know for sure. And William wasn't even there!" She tried to reason.

"If he is William at all," Eric snorted.

"I know he is, I – I can feel it. I know we can trust him," she argued, frustrated. Snow couldn't understand why he was being so difficult, so set against her old friend. "Why don't you believe him?"

Eric sighed heavily, "This all just feels too convenient. I haven't survived this long by trusting people blindly. When something sounds too good to be true, it usually always is."

"If you don't trust him, then trust me," she pleaded, "I know this is a turn for the better."

"You want to go with him?" He sounded resigned.

"Where else can we go?" She asked, and when he didn't answer, she knew she had won their debate – for the time being.

As Eric stooped down to turn a body, she realized that none of the dead men had any packs with them, something that the huntsman had surely already noted. "Where are all their supplies?"

"On the horses," Eric smiled faintly, "But I'll go through the bodies anyway, they might have something valuable – like a good strong drink." He pulled a water bottle from the dead, quickly opening it and taking a sip. He grimaced, "Damn, water."

Snow resisted the urge to sigh loudly, but the frown on her face told him of her disapproval. He snorted as he capped the bottle and tossed it to her, walking to the next body. She followed resignedly and watched as he resumed his search, wishing he wouldn't find anything. As it was, the huntsman was not in luck, and he straightened up with a curse.

However, the curse was laced with pain, and as Eric instinctively clutched the area below his collarbone, Snow realized he was wounded. "You are hurt!" She accused, worry and irritation warring for dominance, "Is it bad?" In her mind she was already seeing all the horrible scenarios his injury could result in.

"I'm still standing, aren't I?" He scowled.

"Knowing you, that doesn't tell me anything!" She snapped.

He had the good grace to look contrite, "Sorry. It's not that bad, I promise. I just need to dress it, and I could really use some alcohol to clean it."

"Right," she thought for a moment, her exasperation already fading in the face of his apology, "we still have some dressings in our pack. Take them out, and I'll find if there's any liquor." Not giving him time to argue, Snow quickly crouched down beside another dead man, steeling herself. It was just a body, nothing more. The man was on his back, his eyes wide-open, empty. Trying not to think, she opened his coat, hoping and praying her search would not take long.

"Snow, you don't have to do that," Eric said.

"I do," She answered, knowing it was something she would have to learn to bear. He recognized the resolution in her voice and didn't protest any further. Perhaps he even agreed with her; it was just a dead body and she should learn to handle those while still keeping her nerves and wits about her.

Her hopes and prayers turned to be ineffective, for she had to search all the bodies, before finally finding a bottle of alcohol from the inside pocket of the last man's coat. Shuddering and willing herself not to be sick, she clutched the bottle tightly as she returned to him.

Eric had already taken out the dressing and had stripped to the waist. Snow concentrated on him, examining his bare chest with interest. There were faint marks from old wounds, like a map to his past, and she had a sudden urge to touch them, to get to know their stories. One she knew of already, the one gotten from battling the queen's men in the dark forest, and it was still prominent, looking red and angry. And just below it was a fresh cut, raw and slowly leaking blood.

"Missed his aim," the huntsman muttered, pressing a piece of cloth to the gash. Not till then did she realize the wound was alarmingly close to his heart.

"Here," Snow handed the bottle to him. Eric doused the wound with the liquid, grimacing with pain. Then he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drink before putting it aside. Snow had gathered the dressing and now held it, not knowing the first thing about how to tie it properly. He noticed her hesitation and smiled, "I'm to be your guinea pig then?"

She wanted to help, but what if she would just make his injury worse? "You could –"

"No, I can't do it by myself, and I sure aren't waiting for William," he interrupted, and then gentled his voice, "I'll tell you what to do – it's easy, just the same as tying the food packs."

Hence Snow found herself fumblingly dressing Eric's wound, startling and apologizing every time he flinched from pain. But he patiently bore her inexpert ministrations, giving her encouraging words among the instructions. When she was done, she sighed with relief. The dressing wasn't very neat, but the wound was covered tightly, and he seemed satisfied with her work. She rested her palm gently on the dressed wound and willed it to heal good and quickly.

"You take such good care of me," he murmured, eyes soft. She shook her head, speechless, her heart full of things she didn't know how to name.

-o-

When William returned with the horses, they had been sitting side by side in companionable silence for some time. They had moved a little way away from the bodies, but were still close enough that the animals, already lured in by the stench of death, didn't dare approach the dead. There was no talk of burying the men; Snow knew it would just be a waste of time and strength they couldn't spare.

William galloped to them on a brown mare, leading another horse by the reins. As he came to a stop, Eric took the reins from him and proceeded to pet the spotty animal, whispering something to her quivering ears. William swung from the saddle, looking disheveled and irritated. Clearly he had had a harder time catching the horses than he had anticipated.

"Only two?" The huntsman asked too innocently.

"I got the horses _and_ the provisions, while you lazed about," William huffed.

"Aye, we had a lovely time resting here in the sun with the dead," Eric said and started to tie their gear to the spotty horse's back. Eric's coat covered his mangled shirt; outwardly there wasn't any sign of him being injured. Snow knew he wouldn't appreciate her telling William about something he considered to be a weakness, so she remained silent.

Snow tuned out their continuing bickering and smoothed the brown mare's matted flank, feeling the power in her tight muscles. She remembered the white horse that had carried her from the beach to the dark forest, getting mired badly, and her having to leave the poor animal behind, condemning it in all likelihood to death. She buried her face to the mare's tangled mane, wishing for a better outcome to her riding this time.

She knew better than to think they were hunted no longer, but at least no-one was snapping at their heels now. The queen would have to send more men, when she found out they had killed their pursuers, but that could take time, and by then they would already be in the resistance's hiding place. Snow felt hope and relief stir in her, and tried to quash them, afraid they would prove to be untimely. They were not out of danger yet. Would they ever be?

Suddenly she realized something she had overlooked while searching the bodies, too focused on finding the bottle of alcohol and getting out of her search without being sick. None of the dead men were the queen's brother. To her horror, she felt disappointed. She didn't want to wish someone dead, but still, it would have been a relief to know that he would never again watch her, never hunt her, never try to hurt her. Where was he? Snow wasn't aware that she had spoken the question aloud until both men turned to look at her and William asked, "Who?"

She tried to sound nonchalant, "The queen's brother. He hunted us, but he is not among the dead."

"He left after the raid on Fenland, got summons from the queen. Later I heard that he had led the attack on my father's castle," There was rage in William's voice, and Snow was once again reminded that she wasn't the only one that had suffered in the hands of the queen and her brother. And William's hurt was still fresh, wide-open and bleeding.

"So, he is probably hunting us right now. We can't tarry any longer," Eric said sharply, and checked once more the fastenings tying the packs to the spotty horse – or Spotty, as Snow had already taken to call her in her mind. Snow went to stand beside him, ready to mount, taking it self-evident that she would ride with Eric.

"Snow, you should ride with me," William suggested. Meeting her inquiring look, he explained, "It divides the weight more evenly." It was true that Eric was bigger than William, taller and more muscled, and Spotty was also carrying more supplies than the other horse. And so while Eric looked stormy, he didn't offer any protest, when Snow dutifully changed horses – and riders.


	6. Chapter 6: Past

I am now also on AO3! I'll slowly upload all my stories there, but I'll also continue to post them here.

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Chapter 6: Past

The gentle sway of the horse, going slow trot over the terrain, almost lulled Snow to sleep. It was wonderful to go forward without labor, to rest tired feet and not feel guilty about it. She was sitting behind William, her arms holding onto him, leaning forward against his back. If she turned her head, she could see Eric following them close behind.

It was slow going even with the horses. The terrain was too rocky and rugged for them to risk going full gallop. A few times they had to dismount and walk the horses over the rougher areas. But little by little the mountains were getting closer, their immense shadows growing larger. Snow felt something stir in her, a mixture of anxiousness, suspense, hope; the unknown would soon become known.

Snow pressed her cheek against William's solid back, the leather of his coat smooth and smelling of dirt and rain. He didn't fit in her memories anymore; the mischievous boy was all grown up. William was more serious now, burdened, burning with purpose and righteous anger. And yet, despite the acquired years, he somehow seemed young as well, as if that boy of twelve still lurked just underneath his skin, the vulnerability and fear clear enough for her to see.

She wondered what he thought of her, if she fit into his memories of her. Was she still the same or had she changed beyond all recognition? Snow didn't know which would be worse, having not changed at all, or having changed too much. For a moment, she contemplated asking him, but then rejected the idea. She didn't feel confident or comfortable enough with him to ask those kinds of questions yet.

William had been silent for most of the ride, concentrating on leading the way. Sometimes he turned his head to look at her, his chin coming to almost touch her cheek. He looked at her wondering, as if he could hardly believe she was there with him. After one such look, he took a deep breath and said, "Snow."

When he didn't say anything else, she prompted, "Yes?"

"They told us – me – that everyone in the castle had been killed that night your father was murdered. If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you," William swore with strong conviction. She believed him.

For a moment Snow let herself imagine how things would be if he had come to rescue her years ago, how she would have grown up with him in Duke Hammond's stronghold, freely learning the world. However, even as she ached for those dreams, she knew them to be false, for she wouldn't have been truly free – the Duke's castle would have been just a bigger prison for her, the heir of the slain king, sought after and fought against. And those thoughts were futile anyhow; there was no changing the past.

"I should never have left you – I should have gone back that night," William said. The guilt in his voice was overwhelming, pulling her under.

"You were just a child. I don't blame you for anything that happened," Snow told him, meaning every word. She had never thought it was William's fault that she had been imprisoned, or anyone else's fault either, only the queen's.

However, he was unwilling to hear her. "I could have done something," William argued, "to think they held you prisoner all this time, alone…"

"I'm here now," she said, not knowing how to ease his guilt or pain. She felt powerless against them.

"Yes, you are. And I promise I'm going to take care of you. No one's going to capture you again," William claimed, squeezing her hand. Although his words were meant to reassure her, they failed to ease her anxiousness or banish the strange foreboding that was slowly taking root in her mind. Not knowing how to answer, she didn't say anything at all. They fell into a silence that somehow didn't feel as natural or companionable as the silences she had gotten used to in the last few weeks.

-o-

They traveled closer and closer to their goal, until it was too dark to risk riding among the loose rocks and sudden holes in the ground. Eric decided their resting place for the night, a small sheltered hollow, surrounded by a cliff on one side and a sparse semicircle of trees on the other. They tied the horses' reins around the nearest tree, and the animals started to happily munch the sprigs and heather. The huntsman directed them to leave everything but their weapons and blankets on the horses, preparing for a potential hasty departure.

Snow rolled her blankets open, the second one gotten from Spotty's previous owner, and proceeded to make her bed for the night. One made a nice mat and the other would keep her warm, for she knew without asking that there would be no fire lit. Eric and William had divided the night in two; the first watch would be Eric's, the second William's. There was no watch shift for Snow, which she had protested against, in vain. William had thought it unnecessary not to mention preposterous – why would she want to stay up, if she didn't need to? Eric on the other hand had just claimed in his gruff way that he didn't trust her not to fall asleep in the middle of her watch. It was easier to accept the huntsman's reasoning than to think of herself as unnecessary.

As it turned out, Snow could have kept watch after all, for she couldn't sleep. She lay there, wrapped tightly in her blanket, looking at the stars. They were so bright in the dark, spreading against the whole black canvas of the night sky, some of them seeming to pulse with a distant life. There were so many of them, more than she had seen from the window of her cell.

Once, she had sent her memories for safekeeping, had imagined them flying to the dark sky, each of them becoming a star. The bright silvery one was her mother's gentle smile, the way she hugged Snow tight. Next to it was the summer festival and then next to that a lovely winter day. Her father's laughter was there in the center; his unrelenting sorrow far behind. The William she knew was in several stars, teasing and running and playing, somehow more true than the man sleeping just a few yards away from her.

To the edges of the sky she had pushed the dark, sorrowful, desperate things. They were now small and still, so far in the distance, looking cold and lonely. Death was there, and hate with fear. Loneliness too, always. They were not there for safekeeping, but in exile, banished from her sight. And still, they lived on. William's words and feelings had drawn them nearer, had reminded her of their places in the sky, among the brighter stars.

Restless with uneasy thoughts, Snow turned and twisted in her makeshift bed, the sleep continuing to elude her. All the while she was aware that she wasn't the only one awake; Eric kept watch, sitting at the edge of the hollow, near the resting horses. Suddenly she wanted to talk to him badly. She had missed him during their ride, which made no sense, for he had followed close behind. But still, she had missed the opportunity to talk with him.

Snow rose slowly, careful not to wake William, and the blanket still around her, she tiptoed to where the huntsman was sitting. The stars and the sliver of moon gave just enough light for her to see the dusky shapes in the darkness. He was motionless, like a statue.

"I can't sleep," Snow said, knowing she was rather stating the obvious. Silence. She tried again, "Can I sit here with you?"

"Do as you like," Eric answered. His voice was gravelly, and he sounded like he had been drinking, although she knew he hadn't been.

Undeterred, she sat next to him and continued in a hushed voice, "What do you think happens tomorrow?"

"We'll see if your friend is a man of his word."

"He is," she said. Then, remembering her stars, she amended, "At least he was before."

He stayed silent, so she plunged ahead, blindly, "I was thinking about the past – how it's still so much a part of the present, of this moment. And I – I don't think it should be."

In the dark, Snow could see him turning his head to look at her, but couldn't make out the expression on his face. She waited for his words, and just as she had given up on getting him to answer, he spoke up, "If I let go…then I'll have nothing, not even the little I have now. I'm not a good man, but at least I still remember what it was like to be one."

So she wasn't the only one with restless, dark thoughts. "Shouldn't we go forward? Isn't that the only thing to do?" She wondered. She wanted to leave her past behind her, wanted so much to be free, to just be – be unknown, be like everyone else, free to choose her own path.

"There is no going forward – not for me," Eric's voice was flat. He sounded certain, sure of his defeat. It angered her.

"Certainly not, if you're not even willing to try," Snow retorted. Then, much gentler, she said, "I just…don't think that they – my parents, and your wife…that they would want us to live in the past. What if you could become someone new? Wouldn't that be worth pursuing?"

"New? Have you thought of where we are going? To the resistance you are the rightful heir, their savior, the link to the past – you _are_ the past."

"No," she denied, "I'll be more than that."

He snorted, "You are so young – you have lived almost half of your live in isolation – you don't know who you are or what you want."

"Well, neither do you," she whispered, the words burning in her throat. Then she rose and went back to her sleeping place. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears, willing herself to fall asleep.

-o-

Next morning Snow was woken by William. He shook her shoulder gently and then offered a hand up. William seemed to be in a much better mood, eagerly anticipating that they would arrive at the resistance's hideout sometime in the afternoon. He asked if she had slept well, and Snow, distracted, answered that she had. Eric was silently preparing the horses, seemingly focused on his task. Unwilling to start the day with a silence between them, she wished the huntsman a good morning. He offered her a small nod in return.

After a sparse and hasty breakfast, they were off. Snow rode again with William, trying to quiet down the turmoil in her mind. She was still full of questions that had no easy answers, her wishes and fears a muddled tangle. The two men in her company were only adding to her confusion, equally perplexing and infuriating, although for different reasons.

But maybe not that different after all. As she contemplated them, she came to the startling conclusion that Eric and William, although entirely unlike, still had some things in common. Both wanted to be in charge. Both were honest, honorable men. And they were both directed by the past, by their guilt and anger. Although she ached to see them struggling against the chains of the past, she was beginning to realize that she couldn't help them, not with her own fight still ongoing. Her guilt and anger didn't match theirs, but instead, she was following fear and loneliness.

Immersed in her thoughts, the time went by quickly, and so Snow was surprised, when William halted the horse and said their journey was coming to its end. They would have to walk the horses the rest of the way. Snow looked at the jagged, mountainous rise awaiting them, and couldn't see the point in dragging the poor animals with them. But neither did she want to abandon them to the wild. Eric seemed to have the same thought – or at least a thought about the impracticality of the action – for he declared the horses would be of no use to them in the mountains. William, however, just smiled and said not to worry; the animals would be taken care of.

The last miles of their journey were also the hardest. They followed a zigzagging footpath among the huge rocks, sometimes having to climb a steep cliff, all the while trying to urge the unhappy horses forward. Occasionally, the path became so slight, it was almost indiscernible. Only the ones who knew it was there, saw it for what it truly was; a pathway to a secret.

Suddenly there was a sheer rock face in front of them, reaching high for the sky. It stretched miles to their left and right, effectively blocking their way. The cliff seemed impossible to climb, and going around it would take days, if it were at all possible. Had they come to a dead end after all?

William started to follow the rock face to the left, confident in his steps. Eric gave Snow a meaningful look and shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to say to her silently that they had no choice; they had followed William this far, and they would have to trust him a little further still. And so they walked after him, until a voice called, "Halt!"

Eric drew his axe and pivoted around. The voice echoed around them, bouncing from one direction to the other. Snow searched for the stranger, but there was no one; it was as if the voice's owner was invisible, incorporeal.

"Who goes there?" The voice demanded, "This way is shut for all but few."

"You know very well who I am, Gavin!" William hollered back, looking up. Snow followed his gaze and saw a small ledge about five yards above them. A man was standing there, aiming a bow at them.

"Lord William!" The man exclaimed, slowly lowering his weapon. "Well I never! You didn't manage to kill yourself after all."

"Is Thomas here?" William asked, long-suffering.

"Aye, he has taken over, you vanishing and all," the man sounded like he was grinning, although he was too far up for Snow to see his features properly. "He'll be right glad to see you, he will."

"Oh, I'm sure," William said dryly.

"Who are you travelling with, my lord?"

"Well, I –" William hesitated, and Snow tensed, not sure if she was ready to be introduced to other people, to strangers, with her true name. But it seemed William paused for too long for his answer, for the man suddenly cried, "You found _her_?"

"I did," William answered, proud and relieved. He turned to look at Snow, smiling reassuringly.

"Well I never!" The man burst out, wonder and shock in his voice.

"I trust that you'll let us pass now?"

"Of course my lord, and your – your highness," The man stammered.

William continued onwards only a few yards, and then suddenly a narrow passage appeared in the rock face. It was a shady pass, like a small dried up riverbed, meandering deeper inside, towards the heart of the mountain. It led to a little rocky clearing, surrounded by mountain ridges from all sides. The clearing was empty, except for two wooden sheds. They left the horses in one of them, among some hay and two other horses for company.

But they had to go deeper still. Snow faced the black hole in the seemingly impenetrable rock, the dark, yawning mouth of the tunnel. It stirred her, all her mixed feelings flaring up. What would she find there? Who would she be there?

Not willing to wait anymore, she stepped inside, leaving the sky behind her.


	7. Chapter 7: Mines

Chapter 7: Mines

For a moment, Snow couldn't see anything. Only blackness, stretching endlessly ahead.

Then light flared, and revealed the solid rock enclosing her, and the small tunnel the only way forward. William had lit a torch, and now held it in his hand, showing the way. The fire radiated warmth inside the cool mountain, and made the walls of the tunnel shimmer. William pushed ahead of her, and beckoned them to follow. When Snow moved, her shadow moved with her.

She followed William along the slightly sloping tunnel, Eric close on her heels. Her spine tingled. The world had changed drastically; everything was different under the mountain, even the very air they breathed seemed heavier.

"What is this place?" She whispered, not wanting her voice to carry along the corridor to where the fire didn't reach.

"Old mines, there are hundreds of tunnels under these mountains," William answered, his voice echoing faintly. "But they were abandoned a long time ago – before we were born. I don't know why, maybe there wasn't anything to mine anymore. They do make an ideal hiding place though. Only a few yet remember where these tunnels are – except our own men."

"Is this the only way in?" Eric's gruff voice, sounding right behind her ear, startled Snow. She stumbled slightly, the rhythm of her feet disrupted. Eric's arm sneaked around her waist, the palm of his hand coming to rest against her stomach. It offered a sweet pressure, grounding her, reminding her that she wasn't embarking on this journey to the unknown alone. The hold lasted only a moment, but left warmth in its wake that flared up in her belly, spreading all over her.

"It's the only one we use. Others are blocked up," William said, going steadfastly forward. The tunnel went fairly straight ahead, clearly manmade. It descended subtly; with every step they were lower, deeper inside the mountain.

"How deep are we going?" The huntsman inquired. He sounded the same as always, steady and firm, but still Snow thought she could detect a small hint of discomfort, uncertainty, in his voice. It came to her that the wilderness was a natural environment for a hunter, the mines less so.

"Not very deep. We only use a small portion of these mines." As William spoke, they came to an intersection. The tunnel branched off into three different directions, each of them equally dark. "We're nearly there," he assured and continued forward, dismissing the tunnels forking into right and left.

William was right. They hadn't walked but a few minutes, when suddenly the light seemed to grow, eating up their shadows. They stepped into a large cave, lit up by torches mounted on the walls. There were dozens of people, all standing up and turning to look at them.

The stunned silence lasted hardly a second, then everything seemed to descend into a pandemonium. There were overlapping cries of "My lord!" and "William!" and "Thank heavens!" People were rushing up to them, their hands stretching to touch, and Snow instinctively withdrew, stepping backwards, overwhelmed. Eric drew her behind him, blanketing her from view.

However, the madly chattering people were not interested in Snow or Eric, perhaps hadn't even noticed them. Their sole focus was William; they swarmed around him, slapped his back, shook his hand, hugged him. William grinned from ear to ear under their warm welcome, seeming to know every man and woman whom he greeted.

"Alright, settle down! Let the boy breathe," a voice thundered, cutting through the cheers. The crowd parted to let a tall, middle-aged man step through. He looked grim.

"Thomas, good to see you," William said, offering his hand to the man. The man took it, and then pulled William into a brief hug, declaring, "Not as good as it is to see you." The man's sharp eyes swept over Eric and Snow, assessing. "You have brought guests."

"Yes, I found her, just as I said I – "

"You must be weary from your journey," the man interrupted, "let's safe talking for later. Beth will bring warm broth to the small chamber for you."

"But I –," William started to say, more confused than indignant, but was interrupted again.

"Broth sounds good, as well as some rest," Eric stepped forward, keeping his hand on Snow's arm.

The man inclined his head and smiled, "Follow me." He stepped easily through the crowd, Eric following him and Snow in turn following closely Eric. She didn't turn to see, if William was walking behind her. She kept her eyes resolutely fixed on Eric's back, avoiding all the curious and contemplative gazes directed in her way.

-o-

The small chamber turned out to be a cave the size of a middle-sized room. The light of a couple of torches revealed several sleeping mats, pallets and blankets lining the walls. Otherwise the space was bare, empty of people. Only a dozen yards of narrow tunnel separated it from the large central cave, where they had left the curious crowd. Snow was a little surprised the people hadn't tried to follow them, but had instead given them privacy, although they had to be burning with numerous questions.

"This is as private as it can be here, which means not very private – everyone seems to know everything there is to know in a couple of hours' time." The man turned to face them with a mirthless grin. "I am Thomas, Duke Hammond's steward. I have been leading the resistance after the Duke's death and lord William's disappearance."

"I didn't disappear; you knew I went to find Snow. And here she is. Thomas, let me introduce you to King Magnus' daughter, princess Snow White," William said proudly, gesturing to her. Snow offered her hand to Thomas, giving him a small smile. He looked at her hand a moment, as if pondering whether to take it, and she feared she had made some mistake in her greeting, but then he shook her hand firmly. "It's an honor to meet you, your highness," Thomas said solemnly.

"Please, I would like to be called Snow," she requested. Snow felt that the titles fit her poorly; she hadn't yet done anything to deserve them, and they just set her apart from others.

"Very well. I shall inform others of your wish, so you don't have to repeat yourself endlessly," Thomas promised, and Snow felt instantly more at ease with him. He seemed a competent, no-nonsense man, devoid of any empty posturing or false sentiment.

"This is Eric, a huntsman that has been helping Snow," William introduced Eric, who stood silently beside her, taking it all in with sharp eyes. Eric and Thomas shook hands briefly, assessing each other. At least Thomas seemed to approve of what he saw, for he said, "Good to have you here. We are in dire need of able-bodied men." The huntsman gave a curt nod in reply.

"That reminds me, where are the rest of the men?" William demanded to know.

"Some are on patrol and on guard. But the rest you just saw."

"This is all? I had thought more would have survived…" William sounded appalled.

"We were badly crushed. Nonetheless, I have been waiting for more men to trickle by, but not many have come," Thomas' voice was harsh. "As for the people we sheltered – those that are not dead are scattered to the four winds. We couldn't drag the children or the elderly here with us."

"Well, it's a blow, certainly. But I am here now, and we'll rise again," William said with false cheer.

"So you are," Thomas' words were as grim as his face, "and it continues to amaze me, how fate seems to favor such a rash idiot as you." Thomas clearly wasn't one to mince his words.

William looked as dumbfounded as Snow felt. She was out of her depth; not for the first time, she felt that she didn't understand the relations between people. Thomas was William's subject and seemed to care for him, yet he berated him with true anger.

"I succeeded!" William exclaimed, indignant.

Thomas sighed, "William, although I am glad you are here alive and well, and that you found your old playmate in equally good condition, that will not excuse your folly."

William didn't look placated, instead his eyes grew stormy and his lips clamped together in a flat, unhappy line. Snow feared she would have to witness a bitter argument between the two men; luckily they were just then interrupted by a young woman, who sauntered into the chamber, carrying a cauldron.

"Here's some broth, you must be hungry," the woman said cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the tense atmosphere she had entered. She lowered the cauldron carefully to the middle of the floor, and then drew some wooden cups and spoons from her apron's big front pocket. She filled one of the cups with broth and handed it to William, grinning, "Welcome back, my lord. I knew you would escape the devil once again."

"Thank you, Beth. It's nice to know someone at least is happy to see me," William answered.

"Oh, we're all happy to see you." The next cup was offered to Snow. "Here, your highness, be careful, it's hot." Snow took the cup and uttered her thanks.

"She's to be called Snow, while she's in here," Thomas said wryly.

Beth smiled brightly, "You're welcome, Snow."

Snow thanked her again, the woman's easy-going nature balm to Snow's anxiousness and the hot, delicious smelling broth nectar to her starved belly.

-o-

After they had gobbled up the delicious broth in next to no time, Thomas suggested that Beth show Snow a place to wash up. Just the mere thought of it was heavenly, washing away all the grime and dirt that had become like a second skin. Still, Snow hesitated before giving her assent, looking at Eric. Travelling together, they had rarely been out of each other's eyesight more than a few minutes at a time. It now felt odd to think that wasn't their natural state, and that perhaps they could exist with a distance between them. But how great a distance? Snow banished the question swiftly from her mind. It didn't bear thinking about, not yet.

Eric answered her look with inscrutable eyes, but gave a minuscule nod to prod her ahead. So Snow followed Beth out of the chamber, back the same way they had come. As they left the three men behind, Snow had a moment's fancy of turning around. It had occurred to her that during her absence they would most certainly speak of the current fight against the queen and other relevant matters, and she wanted to be there listening and participating. She consoled herself with the thought of prying the conversation from Eric or William later.

Beth led her through the large cave, the people there not paying much attention to them. After taking a lit torch from the wall, they stepped into the same tunnel Snow had walked not even an hour before. She wondered if they would go outside, if there would be some water source on the clearing that she had not noticed. However, as they came to the intersection, Beth turned to right, and Snow was yet again facing the unknown.

They hadn't walked long, when the tunnel opened into a small cave. No torches lined its walls; the fire Beth carried was the only thing to reveal it from the darkness. The cave floor was full of barrels and sacks and wooden chests. Before Snow could ask, Beth already told her it was one of their storages. To Snow it seemed that the resistance was at least well stocked, but then again, those sacks could be full of rocks for all she knew. They weaved their way to the other side of the cave, where there was a small gap in the wall. Another tunnel, yet again. Snow was beginning to realize that life under the mountain was largely traipsing along one tunnel after another.

However, the tunnels were not all the same. Snow could see and feel the difference immediately. This tunnel was narrower, its walls rougher, with jagged rocks protruding, sometimes so close as to scratch her skin. The floor was everything but smooth; loose rocks littered it, and a few times a large boulder seemed to block the way forward completely, until the tunnel widened a little to the side and they could squeeze through. Snow realized they were in a tunnel that the nature itself had made, and man had later done just enough to keep it open.

This time they walked a long while without entering another cave or encountering an intersection. It was hard to keep track of time underground; their trek seemed endless, but Snow knew it couldn't have been so very long ago they had left the storage behind. Just as her weary legs were starting to demand a rest, the tunnel widened into a cave.

"Here we are," Beth said and lit a torch in the wall with the one she carried. As the light grew, Snow gasped. It was no ordinary cave. The walls of the small chamber glittered in the light, the surface of the rock smooth and silken beneath her hand. But the most amazing thing was the cave floor, a huge rippling mirror covering it almost from wall to wall, the color of a curious blend of indigo and black. Astonished, Snow realized it was a pool, full of dark water.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Beth's voice was reverent. "A bath fit for a queen."

"I have never seen anything like this," Snow admitted. Granted, she hadn't seen that much to begin with, but this was certainly the most amazing place she had ever been to. The whole cave seemed to shimmer in the fire light, the mysterious atmosphere seeping into Snow and gripping tight. She had a sudden impossible thought that she had been there before.

"The water is cool, but not too cold," Beth said. "It's not as deep as it looks, your feet will reach the bottom."

Suddenly hesitant, Snow didn't start to remove her clothes, but just stood there watching the water. As enticing as it looked, she felt unsure, hazy and shaky. In some way she knew didn't make any sense, it just felt too much, too soon.

"Oh bugger, I forgot to bring clean clothes," Beth sighed, and seeing Snow eying the clothes she wore, she was quick to add, "and you can't put those back on, it would rather defeat the purpose of washing up in the first place, they reek – pardon me, but they do." Amused, Snow watched as Beth wrinkled her nose for good measure.

"Well, there is nothing for it but to go back to fetch them. You enjoy your bath and I'll be back in a jiffy," Beth said and before Snow had time to protest, she had already gone, leaving Snow alone by the dark pool.

She stared at the water some time, the surface of the pool still, hiding anything and nothing beneath it. Struggling, Snow broke her queer mood, aware she would look very foolish if Beth were to find her still standing clothed upon her return. She undressed hastily, and then spine tingling, heart hammering, she stepped into the pool.

As soon as the water enclosed her, the tension swept from her, leaving her body limb, her mind languid. The water was cool, but she adjusted to it quickly. It was perfect. When she stood straight, the water came to her collarbone, caressing her skin. A sigh escaped her, and with it all her cares and fears and doubts.

Time lost its meaning as Snow washed, floated and swam around in the water with leisurely movements. The faintly lit cave seemed to embrace her, cocoon her in a secret nest. Delighted, she turned and twisted under the water, felt how easily her body followed. She bubbled over with laughter, inexplicable happy.

"Have you found it yet?" The hoarse voice startled Snow badly; she cried out in fright. A stooped figure stood on the edge of the pool, looking at her with dark, glittering eyes. The face of the stranger was hidden behind a mass of tangled hair, and only the ragged dress revealed the figure to be a woman.

"Or is it too deep?" The woman croaked. "The White Hart waited for you, and yet you found your way here – interesting."

Snow huddled in the water, feeling suddenly cold. She felt exposed, bared to her very being. The woman continued to stare at Snow, frenzied, her words unconnected and making little sense.

"Ha! You came here, chose hard rock and darkness instead. Oh, the little fiends are not going to be happy about that, oh no!" The woman cackled.

"Moira!" To Snow's utter relief Beth came into the cave, carrying a bundle of clothes. She seemed annoyed as she berated the woman harshly, "Stop your nonsense, and leave her be."

"I was saying welcome, I was," the woman claimed. In the additional light of Beth's torch Snow could see the woman's grey hair and crinkled skin.

"You were talking nonsense, as usual. Now go, before I'll tell Thomas."

"You can tell what you like, my grandson knows the truth, he does, adulteress," the woman hissed, but went without further protest, vanishing into the dark tunnel without a light.

"Just ignore her," Beth said, "pay no mind to what that old crone says."

Shivering, Snow rose from the water and took gratefully the clothes Beth offered her. She started to dress, the clean skirt and bodice feeling nice against her wet skin.

"I thought you could not take the old people here," Snow said, still rattled.

"As if we could get rid of Moira that easily," Beth snorted. "Forget her; she is full of fairy tales. Now, we'll just brush your hair, and you'll look quite lovely for tonight's celebration."

"Celebration?"

"You thought the return of Duke Hammond's heir and King Magnus' daughter wouldn't merit a party?" Beth grinned, "You'll be in for a surprise then."

The whole day had rather been a series of constant surprises for Snow; she wondered whether this next one would be a trial or a triumph.


	8. Chapter 8: Dance

Chapter 8: Dance

The celebration was already in full swing when Snow and Beth emerged from the tunnel. Evening was well underway; a huge bonfire in the middle of the clearing kept the darkness at the edges, the shadows hugging the high walls of the mountain that surrounded them from all sides.

The empty clearing with its wooden sheds had been transformed to something almost magical. A delicious smell wafted from the fire, meat roasting on a spit. A cheerful tune filled the air, as an old man played a battered fiddle and the people gathered around him clapped their hands. A few couples were dancing to the cheer of others, the rest were laughing and chattering and drinking. They all seemed happy.

Overwhelmed, Snow almost retreated back to the tunnel, acutely aware that she didn't belong. She didn't know these people, didn't know how to get to know them. She didn't know how to be among so many strangers; there were too many people and –

"Here you are." Eric suddenly appeared in front of them. Snow focused on his stern face, the familiar lines around his eyes, the sharp contour of his jaw. A wave of calm came over her.

"Your huntsman has been very anxious about your whereabouts," Beth said, smiling. Snow realized that her washing up had taken hours, and imagined Eric harassing Beth with questions as she came back to get the clean clothes. She felt a sudden flush of joy; she wasn't the only one feeling uneasy about their separation.

"I never knew a simple wash could take so long," Eric muttered.

"Well, you clearly know very little about girls getting ready for a party," Beth teased, and then gestured to Snow, "but you can't claim it wasn't time well spent." Snow blushed, remembering how Beth had insisted on combing her hair until it flowed like silk down her back, how she had checked in the light of the torch that the simple green bodice and matching skirt fitted properly, adjusting the laces tighter.

"No, I can't," Eric said, his eyes going slowly over Snow, from her head to toe. She blushed deeper, his admiring gaze making her blood rush, her heart beat faster. Seeking to turn the attention away from her, Snow remarked, "It seems you also found a bath." It was true: the huntsman was remarkably cleaner than before, his beard and hair neater, accentuating his handsome features.

"If you consider a water pail meant for the horses a bath, then yes, I had a bath," he grinned.

"Oh, there is this most amazing pool in a cave, you have to see it. It's large enough that you can swim there, and it is so…" Snow searched for right words to describe the peculiar atmosphere of the place and came up empty. There were no words, and she halted her speech, awkward.

"It is a pretty special place," Beth affirmed, "and you can take him there later. Usually men and women have their own separate bathing times, to avoid trouble, but since you two are –"

"Snow!" William strode to them, interrupting Beth and saving them all from a very embarrassing conversation. "I have been waiting for you. You look beautiful," William said, smiling wildly, seemingly unaware of the fierce blush on Snow's cheeks.

Snow didn't know how to answer, so she settled on quietly saying, "Thank you." From the corner of her eye she could see the rigid set of Eric's shoulders.

"There are a lot of people wanting to meet you, and I promised to show you around." William offered his hand to Snow, and not letting herself hesitate, she took it. He immediately led her towards the nearest group of people, assuring, "Don't worry, they won't bite."

William, cheerful and confident, introduced her to three men and a woman. Snow mumbled her greetings, but was soon put at ease by the easy, unassuming way the others reacted to her. They were curious but courteous, friendly but not intrusive. They expressed their joy at her escape, welcomed her to their humble hideaway, and told Snow that if there was anything she needed help with, she only had to ask. Touched by their kindness, she could only nod and utter a thank-you, grateful beyond measure.

The rest of the introductions went the same way. From group to group, people to people, Snow received a warm welcome. People seemed genuinely happy to see her, and slowly, Snow's tenseness melted away. She knew at least some of the goodwill was because of her enthusiastic host; William's good humor was infectious. It was also clear that the people liked William and respected him, and his opinion obviously weighed a lot. And he couldn't have been more glowing about Snow.

Snow relaxed little by little, her answers and smiles coming more easily. She didn't feel like an intruder anymore; maybe there could be a place for her here, among these generous people. Majority of them were men, a dozen women in their mix. There was Jack, only fourteen, blushing as he shook her hand. Elsa, with serious eyes and a sad smile. Nobody could overlook Emmett, his massive belly and thundering laugh drawing attention. Old Arthur played the fiddle and young Arthur was at least fifty years old. Julia, a self-confessed busybody, talked nineteen to the dozen, when Henry didn't talk at all. Then there was Sam, Sophie, Kurt, Tobias, Joseph…Snow tried to memorize all their names and faces, but failed. There were too many new faces in too short a time. Her head was whirling, but she was happy. Everything had impossibly, miraculously, turned out well.

-o-

The night went on in a merry blur. As the stars brightened on the dark sky, Snow enjoyed the celebrations, exited and exhilarated. She let people lead her from one novelty to another, took the offered food and drink, clapped her hands with the music, and tried to give everyone their turn to talk with her.

William was a constant presence at her side. Not unwelcome, but no longer so badly needed. The people weren't strangers anymore, and Snow fit among them. But although William's support wasn't necessary any longer, his bright laugh and joking comments were enjoyable, making Snow feel light and carefree.

From time to time Snow searched for Eric with her eyes, always finding him at the same spot, near the shadows. He sat alone nursing his drink, leaning languidly against the rock wall, eyes hooded. People seemed to skirt around him, conscious of his desire to shun company. Once she saw him talking intensively with Thomas and accepting a plate of food from Beth, otherwise he didn't talk with anyone. He always seemed to know when Snow was watching him, meeting her eyes with a heavy look. It made her chest tighten, and she had to turn away.

When the next song started, William led Snow among the other couples dancing, despite her feeble protests. The rhythm slower than before, it was easy to move with the sweet tune. William held her firmly, his hand on the small of her back guiding her steps. It was familiar and new at the same time.

"Do you remember those awful dancing lessons we had?" Snow asked, suddenly remembering clearly how they had done this before, clumsy and impatient, while their teacher had watched appraisingly, finding fault with every step.

"How could I forget?" William grinned. "You liked to step on my toes – hard."

"Only if you had played tricks on me. It was the only time you couldn't run away."

"Oh God, Master Ivan. I wouldn't have dared to escape his lessons. Those pursed-up lips and disapproving look. Remember how he used to beat the tempo with his walking stick?" William's eyes were glinting with laughter.

"I do," Snow couldn't help but laugh with him, "but we weren't the best of students; I think he despaired of ever teaching me to do a simple twirl."

William spun her around fast, and instinctively Snow let her body spin, her skirt billowing. As suddenly as the movement had begun it stopped, and he drew her close to his chest, teasing, "You seem to know how to twirl just fine."

Breathless, Snow leaned against him, heart hammering. She felt unbalanced. Sure that something momentous was about to happen, but uncertain if she wanted it to, Snow stepped backwards, creating a little space between them. Still moving with the music, she looked over William's shoulder, trying to ground herself. Eric's dark eyes met hers.

The huntsman was in his usual place, his position and manner the same as before. But his eyes were now sharp and attentive, fixed on her. Eric's gaze tingled on her skin, borrowed deep into her, flushed her hot. Unsettled, she looked away, but even so, she could feel Eric's eyes on her, following her every move.

"Snow?" William sounded concerned. He had noticed that her thoughts were somewhere far from him, that she had drifted away.

"Yes?" Snow tried to focus on William, on his solemn face.

"Are you alright? Did I – I didn't mean to take any liberties…" He looked worried and awkward at the same time.

"No, you didn't do anything. I'm just…overwhelmed," she was quick to reassure him. "The people here have been so good to me, I didn't expect – I don't know what I expected. But after so many years, I thought I was forgotten."

"You were not forgotten!" William claimed hotly. "I never forgot you and all the people here and out there, they haven't forgotten you either. When they hear that you are still alive, they will rise against the wrongful queen. You'll bring hope that someday the rightful heir will sit on the throne and their nightmare will end, and – and their loved ones didn't die in vain."

"Is it that simple?" Doubt gnawed at her. The song ended and slowly, they came to a halt. William kept holding her.

"Maybe not," he smiled ruefully, "but it's a start. If you stay here, we can find a way."

Snow knew he wanted her to say yes, to assure him that she was ready to fight with him. But she didn't know if she was ready, if she could do what he wanted her to do, if she could be what he wanted her to be. She was saved from answering, when Julia swooped in, exclaiming that William owed her a dance. Snow gladly relinquished her dancing partner and stepped aside.

Old Arthur started to play his fiddle again, but this time the music was accompanied by lyrics. As the melancholy tune filled the clearing, Beth sang in a clear, sweet voice.

_ My love had a heavy heart_

_ It sank like a stone_

_ Deep, deep down to the sea_

_And I woke up all alone_

Fire and shadows danced, entangled in a lovers' embrace. From the other side of the clearing, Eric's gaze found her, searing.

_ My love had a dreary heart_

_ Dry like the desert, all sand_

_ Dreaming, thirsting for rain_

_I searched all the land_

The words settled in her, heavy and sad.

_ My love had an angry heart_

_ Empty of dreams it couldn't keep_

_ It raged and thundered_

_But was too afraid to seek_

Still, his eyes on her, dark and merciless. She refused to look away.

_ My love had a lonely heart_

_ As lonely as mine_

_ And oh, to think!_

_We could have been together all this time._

The music faded away. Slowly, the huntsman rose and after a last pointed look, turned and left his spot. Snow watched as he strode purposely to the wooden shed and vanished inside. It didn't take her even a half-thought's time; she was already moving, hot on his trail.

-o-

For a moment, Snow couldn't see anything. As she closed the door behind her, the shed plunged into darkness. She stood there, heart hammering, knowing she wasn't alone. A horse neighed close to her, the peculiar smell of animal and musty hay pungent but comfortingly familiar.

"Now that you followed me here, they'll think we're having a lovers' meeting," Eric's husky voice managed to startle her, coming somewhere from her left. Snow turned to face him, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The small gaps in the walls let little slices of firelight through, revealing the shapes of horses in their shared stalls, the bales of hay, and the big wooden pail in the corner. The huntsman was standing only a few steps away from her.

"They can think what they will," Snow said with a confidence she didn't feel.

"Truly? You don't care what they'll think of you?" Eric sounded skeptical.

She didn't answer his question, but instead asked, "Why did you come here?"

"I though these horses would be better company than most of the people out there. Why did _you_ come here?" Snow could barely see his face; his eyes were hidden by the dark.

"I wanted to talk with you," she said truthfully.

"You could have talked to me anytime this evening, but I guess you didn't have time with all the…dancing," Eric took a step closer, his tall body looming over her.

"You could have danced yourself, instead of just sitting morosely in a corner all night." Her throat was dry. He took a step closer still, and Snow had a sudden thought that they were dancing, right in that very moment.

"Me dancing?" Eric snorted. "Now that would not have been a pretty sight – unlike you. I'd rather watch you dance, twirl in that dress." He was now standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body, the breath of air that escaped his lips. Snow felt out of her depth; she was plummeting fast into an unknown, dangerous, overpowering territory she didn't know how to navigate.

"What do you think of the mines?" She changed the subject, steadfastly ignoring his heady nearness.

"Not my favorite place. Too confined, too – there is something queer in there, something peculiar…" Eric sounded uneasy, and shifted his weight. "Besides, I don't trust this lot. I asked Thomas how the Duke's castle was taken, and there's definitely something fishy about it."

"He said there was a traitor?"

"Not with as many words, but he was quick to change the subject," Eric said gruffly.

"Did he say what they are doing to oppose the queen?" Snow had to ask; the question had been haunting her whole night, pestering her from the edges of her mind.

"They are not doing much at the moment. I gather they are regrouping," he sounded pensive. "Why?"

"They want –" _William wants_, her mind whispered, and she swallowed, took a heavy breath, and tried again, "They look at me as if I could somehow help them. But I don't know how."

"You don't owe them anything – not to anybody," Eric said, his voice firm, brooking no argument.

"But they fight the queen, they fight with their lives, with everything they have – how could I not do the same? When she has taken as much from me as from them? How could I do less?" Her father's lifeless body, bloody and terrible, flashed in her mind and she shuddered.

"Sometimes...sometimes the only way to fight back is not to fight back at all, but to survive, to live." He hadn't moved any closer, but nonetheless he seemed to be so much nearer to her, right against her heart. Eric continued, almost hesitant, "There is a village across these mountains…with enough supplies, we could reach it. We could go there."

Her heart thundered in the ensuing heavy silence. She fumbled for the right words, tried to make sense of her warring desires, wanted to convey to him how grateful she was, how much she wanted it. In the end, she could only say, "I don't know – I just…I don't know."

Eric was silent for a long moment, his whole body motionless. Then he said, "Tell me when you do," and he stepped back, vanishing into the shadows. It was her cue to leave.


	9. Chapter 9: Decision

Chapter 9: Decision

The tunnel was all blackness in front of her, behind her. Snow walked forward, had been walking so long, alone in the darkness. All around her was the mountain, closing her into a rocky grave. The air was thin and wispy; the ghosts needed no breath. Snow was not afraid. She had walked so long she needed no light, no air, no company.

Snow didn't know where the tunnel led, and yet when she came to the cave, she was not surprised. Of course it had taken her to the dark pool. Where else would she go?

The cave shimmered with a bluish glow, the color an uncanny quiver in the air. On the floor, the water rippled restlessly. Like someone had touched the pool just moments ago, the ripples grew larger, flowing from the center to the edges, almost reaching her bare toes.

Snow bent forward, looked at her image in the water, distorted. The crown, made of bones and ravens' claws, sank heavily on to her fair locks, pressing too tightly against the haughty forehead. The pale skin was smooth, without a single blemish or crinkle. Her lips were a severe line, bloodless. Green eyes cold, empty. She was ageless. Beautiful.

The mirror rippled again, then smoothed. Her image vanished, and only the dark water remained. All was silent. Snow raised her hand; red blood welled up from her fingertip. She watched as a drop of blood dripped down and hit the water. Then another and another, the red mixing with the dark. The water swelled, heavy and strange.

Images flickered on the surface of the pool, fleeting and fragmented. Snow on the ground. A poor village, people fleeing and screaming. Horses galloping, fast approaching. No time, no time! Men on horses, carrying cold steel and death. A mother trying to save her daughter. Red on the ground.

The pool splintered into pieces, the shards cutting like glass. The darkness surged and took everything until Snow couldn't see. The mountain closed her in a grave made of stone, deep and deeper still. There was no light, no air, no one to love. Ageless, she would dwell there forever.

-o-

Snow woke and for a moment couldn't remember anything but the dark pool, the red on the ground, the grave in the deep. The dream lingered, was reluctant to loosen its hold on her; the haze of distorted images made her disorientated and fuzzy.

Slowly, reality recovered more ground, and Snow recognized she was in the small chamber. She had lain down to sleep there late last night, after the celebrations. The cave was dim, but not dark; a torch burned on the wall. It was impossible to tell if it was a morning yet, or even if it was already a day. No sun or sky was there to help her to orientate herself.

The happenings of last night settled over her like a heavy deluge. The memory of both Eric's and William's words, their contrary requests of staying and leaving, made the last vestiges of the dream disappear. For a moment, the reality she had to face seemed far grimmer than any dream. Snow knew she would have to make a decision, would have to choose. She just didn't know how.

Carefully, Snow turned on her sleeping pallet, looking to see if everyone else was still asleep. The women had all went to sleep in the small cave; it had turned out that at nights it was their very own space, their sleeping chamber. Whereas, those men that weren't on watch duty had taken over the large cave, or other fitting sleeping places. Mindful of making too much noise, Snow slowly sat up. All the other sleeping pallets were deserted though, the blankets discarded, the cave empty. It seemed she had been the only one to sleep so late.

With a vague sense of embarrassment, Snow wondered when the others had risen, and how she could have slept through it. She rose up hastily and gathered her pallet and blankets beside the wall. Beth's green dress was crinkled, for Snow had slept fully clothed, more from the old habit than from following others doing the same. The last time she had slept undressed had been in the shack, when she had been sick. Eric had slept right behind her then. Before that, it had been when she had been a child, safe in her own bed. Snow tried to smooth the fabric and pull the bodice higher up. It didn't come to her collarbone, but it did cover all of her bust. Strange, how she had suddenly come to care for her appearance.

The large cave was better lit, but still dimness prevailed. Snow was beginning to recognize it as one of the characteristics of the mines. No matter how many torches you lit, it would always be just a little dark in the corners; shadowy behind the immediate brightness of the flame. The cave was surprisingly devoid of people, for only six others were present. In a far corner, four men were sitting in a ring, playing some kind of card game. Old Arthur was among them, but the rest of their names Snow couldn't remember. Beth and Elsa were talking quietly while they swept the cave floor.

Standing awkwardly at the entrance, Snow waited to be acknowledged. However, they were all too wrapped up in their game and conversation that she went unnoticed. Snow tried to gather the ease, the self-confidence from the night before, the natural way she had conversed with others. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that nothing was different from last night, and stepped into the cave, bidding everyone a good morning.

She got cheery good mornings in return. The men continued their card game soon after, but Beth and Elsa stopped their cleaning and were by Snow in a flash.

"I hope I didn't sleep too long," Snow said, sheepish.

"Nonsense," Beth smiled warmly, "you were exhausted, and no wonder. We saved you some breakfast."

Snow sat down at Beth's insistence, and they brought her a water bottle and a plate full of bread and dried meat. Suddenly very hungry, she started to eat ravenously, listening while Beth and Elsa chattered good-naturedly. They told her that most of the men were outside, taking care of the horses, patrolling and hunting. The rest of the women were there too, washing the dishes and mending clothes. William and Thomas were taking stock of supplies, and Beth was quick to add that Eric had gone with them.

"Did you have a good time last night?" Elsa asked in a soft voice. She seemed a nice girl, younger than Snow and equally shy.

"Yes, I had fun." Snow, thinking of her dance with William, Eric's dark eyes watching her, and their conversation in the shed, blushed. Although most of the evening had been quite fun, she couldn't really call those events fun. They had been confusing and heady and terrifying and thrilling – but not fun.

"You looked ever so beautiful dancing with Lord William," Elsa sighed. Snow felt her blush deepen.

Beth, her eyes knowing, said, "You did. Shame, that you didn't dance more. Your huntsman seemed quite lonely."

"He doesn't dance," Snow asserted, and felt compelled to add, "And he isn't _my_ huntsman."

"Isn't he? Well, that just goes to show that I should learn to not make hasty conclusions," Beth snorted, and then said more kindly, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I promise to stop my meddling. It has become a bad habit here. But there is so little to do sometimes. Just cooking and cleaning and washing, in this god-forsaken place." She sounded frustrated.

Snow shook her head, mumbled, "It's alright." She gathered her courage and then asked, "Can I ask you something quite personal?"

"You can ask me anything you want," Beth said, and Elsa nodded her head in agreement.

"Why are you here?"

Elsa was the first to answer. "I came with my father. You met him last night, his name is Kurt."

"I meant – why are you in the resistance, why are you fighting?" Snow was curious; she wanted to know more about them, and maybe their answers would help her in making her decision.

"We came to the Duke's castle when I was little. There were rumors of girls going missing, being taken…" There was a far-away look in Elsa's eyes. Snow had to strain to hear her hushed voice. "And our farm didn't do so well, the crops died and we were hungry. Duke Hammond took as in, gave us a safe place to stay. My father and brothers, they wanted to fight, to show our allegiance…" Elsa paused and took a deep breath. "And now my brothers are dead, and so is Duke Hammond and the castle is burnt, and we have no safe place to live in."

Snow, deeply moved, carefully touched Elsa's hand. The girl had tears in her eyes, but only one of them fell, sliding down her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Elsa. But this is a safe place, isn't it? We're safe here."

"Until they find us," Elsa said, and Snow couldn't contradict her. The same fear lived in her, the hidden terror of being found again.

"I didn't give a rat's ass – pardon my expression – about the resistance at first. My husband and me, we didn't really get along, so I left him and found work in the Duke's kitchens." Beth sounded jovial, but there was tension in the set of her shoulders that belied it. "The kitchen and these mines, there really isn't any difference; I came because I didn't have any other place to go." She looked Snow straight in the eyes, the look intense and truthful, and continued, "And now I stay because of love."

Snow couldn't help but wonder who Beth loved so much, but couldn't bring herself to ask. The heavy topic changed into meaningless chitchat, and soon enough Beth and Elsa excused themselves to continue their earlier cleaning. Her offer of help dismissed, Snow went to get fresh air, deep in thought.

-o-

As the day went on, the pressure to make a decision increased. Although neither William nor Eric had set her any timeline, Snow felt the urgency in her every thought and action. It wasn't fair to keep her friends waiting, guessing whether she would go or stay. Moreover, her own sanity and peace of mind demanded that she settled the matter soon.

But how could she choose? Snow didn't want to lose Eric, couldn't fathom being there without him. Nor could she leave William, now that she had just found him again, after so many years, now that he was counting on her to help him. It seemed that whatever her decision, she would lose someone important to her.

Both Eric and William seemed to be aware of her inner turmoil, for they were avoiding her. They clearly didn't want to pressure her, and any conversations Snow had with them were short and trivial. She was grateful for them giving her space to think, but at the same time she was acutely aware that they were waiting for her to make up her mind. And when she would, she would disappoint at least one of them.

Conflicted, she roamed the familiar caves and the main tunnel, went outside to the clearing and then to the mines again. Snow found it hard to stay in one place, her thoughts tumbled, discordant. The people noticed her restlessness, her peculiar mood, but to her relief they ignored it and let her be. They probably thought that her past, the captivity and the escape, had finally caught up with her, made her crack. Maybe it had.

Walking along the main tunnel for the fourth time that day, Snow almost bumped into Thomas, who was coming from the opposite direction. Startled, she offered her apologies, and he brushed them off with his usual blunt manner. As Snow was passing him, Thomas suddenly took hold of her arm.

"There is something I would like you to see," he said, matter-of-fact.

Curious, she followed him back the way she had come, towards the entrance of the mine. In the now familiar intersection, Thomas turned to the left, opposite where Beth had led her in their journey to the pool. The tunnel sloped more rapidly downwards than Snow had come accustomed to, the air growing colder. Soon they were standing in a small cave, filled with sacks and barrels. It was obviously another storage space.

"I know you saw the other storage, when you went to the pool. We keep the non-perishable goods, tools and cloths there," Thomas said, putting his burning torch on to the iron holder on the wall. "But we keep most of the food here." He opened one of the sacks and dug a potato out. "There are potatoes, some turnips and carrots. Salted and dried meat is in that barrel over there."

"Where did you get all this?" Snow wondered. Having been hungry for so long, she felt reassured and glad to see so much food.

"Most of the goods we have brought here over the years, little by little as we needed them and for a rainy day. The meat we get from hunting, but the rest of the food…" Thomas closed the sack and turned to look at Snow, his eyes grave. "We are not self-sufficient. Sometimes we have to venture to villages and farms to barter and buy food. Every time we do so, it's a risk, but one that we have to take, even though usually the people don't even have anything left to sell or trade."

Snow looked around, suddenly very conscious of the cost of the food she had been admiring. She knew enough to realize that the risk of getting caught by the queen's men was not to be taken lightly.

"The tunnel continues a little further beyond this cave. There's a small spring, where we get our drinking water." Thomas gestured to the opposite wall of the cave, and Snow saw that the dark shadow on the wall was actually another opening of a tunnel. "So, if you are ever hungry or thirsty, this is the place to come."

"Thank you, for showing me," Snow said.

"And if you ever want to leave…" Thomas' voice was almost disinterested. "You can take whatever you need from here."

"I…thank you. But I'm not sure…" Snow struggled to put her conflict into words. "William asked me to stay. He thinks I could be of some help. That, when people hear that I am alive, they'll rise against the queen."

"William tends to be hugely optimistic, when he wants something," Thomas snorted.

"So you don't think it's possible?"

"Maybe, but it will take a lot of time and effort, and maybe not even then will the people be strong enough to oppose the queen," Thomas said.

"But you are fighting the queen, every one of you here. When people see that –" Snow felt compelled to keep hope, to defend the willingness and strength of the people she knew nothing about.

"I fight because there is nothing else. But most of the people – they still have something to lose. And what little they have left, they'll try to keep desperately." Thomas' eyes were hard, his face severe. He didn't shy away from her questioning look. Suddenly, Snow felt that for the first time she understood him, saw clearly to the man beneath the collected façade.

"You don't believe that the resistance can win against the queen," she accused. "You _want _me to leave."

For a moment, Thomas seemed startled, and then he grinned mirthlessly, "I knew you were bright."

"But why?" Snow had to ask, had to understand.

"Why I am in the resistance if I don't believe in it?" Thomas' laugh was hollow. "But I do believe in it – I believe it is a huge pain in the pretty ass of that bitch of a woman who calls herself the queen. I'll make sure it continues to be so, to our very bloody end." His eyes looked at her intently, measuring her reactions. "And make no mistake, the end will be bloody. If gods are merciful, it will be her blood, but far more likely it'll be our blood. That's why you should go. There is no future for you here."

For a moment, they stood in silence. It became apparent that neither of them had anything left to say. Thomas took his torch from the wall and turned around. He walked out of the cave, not waiting for her to follow. Snow was rooted to the spot, her thoughts whirling furiously. The flame of her own torch flickered restlessly, then settled. Her thoughts came to a halt, the answer obvious, unavoidable.

Snow knew what to do. She had made her decision.


	10. Chapter 10: Change

Chapter 10: Change

After another night filled with restless, fractured dreams, Snow woke to a new day at the mines. This time she managed to wake with the others, their whispers and the rustling of bedclothes dragging her away from fragile sleep. Snow half-expected to find her mind changed in the not-light of the new day, but her decision still held firm. She only had to tell it to those that waited her answer.

Snow tried to gather her courage during breakfast, acutely aware of the glances Eric and William directed towards her. Both men were somber and quiet, sitting away from Snow and from each other. She picked her food listlessly, her earlier appetite gone. Guiltily, Snow remembered the storage room and the lengthy efforts people went to fill it up, and tried to enjoy her breakfast more. But her stomach was queasy; the tension and the suspense of the coming conversation made her highly-strung, nauseous.

She imagined the responses she was likely going to get, all of them making her stomach (and heart) sink further, almost making her change her mind. Snow looked at him, so far across the cave, soon so much farther away from her still, and the dread was like a physical thing, coiling around her and squeezing mercilessly. How could she ever tell him of her decision? How could she ever disappoint him so?

Soon breakfast was over, and for a moment Snow contemplated on finding some task to occupy herself with. Dishes would need to be washed, and surely there would be other chores as well, where she could be of help. But it would only delay the inevitable. Best to get it over with.

With a heavy heart, Snow followed Eric to the main tunnel. He looked over his shoulder, saw her following, and with a determined expression continued to walk ahead. She knew without asking that he was going to lead her somewhere where they could talk in private. However, the mine was not a place where privacy was easy to find, not with dozens of people about. There were people in the caves, people in the clearing, people going up and down the tunnels.

Eric's steps didn't halt; he went forward with a single-minded intensity. Soon they turned right and were in a familiar cave stored with non-perishable goods. Snow saw with both relief and trepidation that the storage space was empty. They were finally alone.

The cave was dark, and Eric's torch was the only thing illuminating it. Snow waited, heart thudding, as he put the torch into the iron holder on the wall. Hands free, the huntsman stood facing the opposite wall, his back to her. His broad shoulders were tense, and he quivered with unleashed strength. Then he sighed deeply, the sound oddly loud in the silence, and turned to face her. Snow trembled, and clenched her hands. Her chest felt too tight, full of things she struggled to give voice to.

"I have thought about what you said…I have thought about it a lot," Snow began with a shaky voice. "I want you to know that this was not an easy decision to make."

Eric was looking at her with a steady, deep gaze, his eyes dark in the dusky cave. His face told her nothing. Snow swallowed, her throat dry, and thought about what she wanted to say. He deserved the truth. He deserved everything she could give him.

"I _want_ to go with you…" How she wanted it; it seemed she had never wanted anything so badly. "I do, please believe me. But I _have _to stay." There, she had said it.

Eric's unreadable face broke into a small, sad smile. "I know. I knew it even before I asked," he said. Almost as if an afterthought, he added, "But I had to ask."

"I was glad that you did," Snow admitted, her heart aching. And then, because she had to make him understand, she broke into a jumbled, hasty, anxious explanation, "But you understand why I have to stay? She is sitting on my father's throne, terrorizing, killing his people, and – and she is never going to stop hunting me, never. I know, _I know_, there is a very big chance that I can do nothing to change how things are – I don't even know how I can help the resistance – but I have to try. I can't run away anymore."

He was looking at her with a curious warmth and sadness, and when Snow had finally ran out of air and explanation, he said almost gently, "I understand."

She hesitated, afraid to put her wish, her want, into words. It would be a selfish thing to ask. Haltingly, heart hammering, she said, "I…I know that I have no right to ask this…but I would be so glad – I want you to stay here with me, I would be so glad if you could." It was selfish, but she had to ask. For Snow thought she would regret it forever, if she didn't take a chance, however fleeting, however small, that he would say yes. She continued quickly, "But I understand if you want to go, I do. And you should – it'll probably be safer there and I know you hate being underground. But I am going to – somehow, I am going to learn how to defeat her, and if you would help me – but if you can't, I understand. You have done so much for me already." Her desperate words slowed, tapered, vanished into silence.

"Of course I'll stay," Eric's smile was wide and bright, filling the gloomy cave.

Snow couldn't help herself; her happiness immense and blinding, she rushed to him, hugging him with all her might. She was so relieved, so glad. He would stay with her; they would not have to part. The hard and desperate task of fighting the queen suddenly felt a little less hard and not so desperate. They could do it together. She hid her face in the nook of his shoulder, breathed his familiar scent.

He whispered into her hair, "What made you think I would go anywhere without you?"

Her laugh sounded more like a sob. Twining her arms around his neck, Snow stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. The gentle press of her mouth against his was fleeting and slight. Still, it felt shocking, momentous, sudden. She hadn't planned it; she had just done it, spur of the moment, the urgent need to give him something back strong and undeniable.

Snow looked at Eric, her hands still around his neck. "I owed you a kiss," she explained, blushing. Eric's arms were holding her waist, firm and constant. There was heat in his eyes, searing her to the bone.

"I remember," he said, his smile shaking her whole being. She was on uneven ground, the world shifting and shuddering all around her. Only his strong arms were holding her up on her feet. Eric looked intently at her lips, and Snow was suddenly breathless.

He gave her time to step back, moving so slowly closer to her, his lips inching towards hers. Snow didn't withdraw, didn't step away from his embrace. She knew he was going to kiss her; she wanted him to kiss her. Her heart fluttered wildly, and when his lips finally found hers, she closed her eyes.

Their second kiss was definitely longer and more solid than the first. His mouth was firm, settling against hers with confidence and desire. When his lips coaxed her mouth open and pressed in, she couldn't help the small, surprised sound from escaping. He kissed her steadfast and yearning and little desperate; like he had waited forever to kiss her, like he had thought he never could.

The kiss lasted forever, but still, all too soon they parted. Snow gasped for air, head reeling. Carefully, Eric let go of her and took a small step back. She felt an irrational pang of loss, momentarily overriding the joy that was still pulsing and throbbing inside her almost painfully. He looked at her intently, as if searching for something in her.

"You are alright," Eric said gruffly, but the anxiousness in his tone made it more a question than a statement.

Snow nodded and smiled, not trusting herself to speak. It seemed it was enough to appease the huntsman, for he smiled back, relaxed.

"Well, I'll go find Thomas and tell him that we'll stay," Eric said. "Are you coming?"

"You go, I – I am going to stay here for a little while," Snow didn't think her deep blush or her fiercely beating heart would calm down any time soon, and she didn't want to be seen until she was more composed. Like this, everyone would surely guess what had happened. Her mixed feelings were too raw, too bare to be exposed to other people's scrutiny.

Eric seemed to understand, for he only smiled slightly, "I'll leave the torch." Anticipating her protest, he continued, "I can find my way in the dark." Without another word he turned to leave, and Snow watched as he vanished into the black opening of the tunnel.

-o-

Snow sat on a wooden barrel, her thoughts darting around, jumbled and tumultuous. One moment, she was thinking about what the others would think about their staying, would they be glad, what William would say. The next moment, she would worry how she could help the resistance, had she made a right decision after all, what if there would be nothing for her to do – and then her thoughts would inevitably turn to Eric, his lips on hers, the way he had looked at her, said that he would stay –

It was all a big, messy tangle. But one thing Snow was sure of: everything had changed. Hadn't it?

She would no longer be a guest, but a member, one among many. She would no longer be an onlooker, but a participant. Instead of running away, she would fight back. And Eric…in addition to being friends, they were now something more. She had kissed him, and he had kissed her back. Maybe the first kiss could be considered as friendly, a kiss between friends, confidants. But the second hadn't been anything like she had ever experienced. It had been her first, true kiss. And that meant they were something more than friends, didn't it?

Frustrated and tired with her warring thoughts, Snow took a deep breath and closed her eyes. How could she ever join the others like this, restless and disarrayed, distracted with her thoughts and questions? Snow sought to quiet her mind; slowly she imagined the doubts behind locked doors, the questions into the darkness of the endless tunnel. The uncertain future became just a ripple under the surface, and other thoughts she smoothed and gathered into an unobtrusive ball.

The kiss she didn't bear to banish or to make just one tendril of thought among many. Instead, she made it invisible to anyone else but herself. Hidden, it would always be close to her mind, closer still to her heart.

Feeling much calmer and more settled than before, Snow opened her eyes. The firelight flickered on the wall, reaching towards the dark of the tunnel. The tunnel to the pool. Suddenly, she wanted to see it again.

Snow took the torch from the wall and headed for the pool, the memory of it clear on her mind, beckoning. She walked fast, the narrow and tight space not hindering her. Last time, the passage had been harder to walk, but now she was more accustomed to the tunnels, the way the mountain protruded rocks like trees pushed roots.

The pool was just like she remembered, just like she had seen in her dreams. The dark water rippled idly, swaying gently. The light of her torch made figures on the walls; they came together, embraced, parted. When she stood at the edge of the pool, the fire's reflection was blindingly bright, full of the colors of sunset. The water was on fire, the flames slowly spreading.

Curious, she peered into the pool, trying to see her own image. But she was just a dark outline drawn against the burning water.

All of a sudden Snow knew she was not alone in the cave. Steeling herself, she turned around. The old woman was standing against the wall, her small beady eyes fixed on Snow.

"You are staying," Moira's toothless grin was grotesque among the shadows.

Snow, seeing no benefit in lies or evasion, said, "Yes, I am."

"You want to defeat _her_," the old woman continued to grin madly, "to crush her, to take her down, to kill her."

"I do," Snow admitted. She wanted it badly, for all those reasons she had confessed to Eric, but also because deep inside her, there was something she couldn't tell, couldn't recognize – a yearning for vengeance, a violent will to see her enemy hurt like she had been hurt. Moira's eyes seemed to go right inside her, finding that place that Snow had buried, had denied existed.

"Wanting and doing are not the same," Moira cackled.

"I am going to do it," Snow said firmly, annoyed.

Moira's laugh changed into a hacking cough, grating Snow's nerves. It echoed in the cave, endlessly, until at last it faded away. "And what is different now than before – that you think you can do it?"

"Everything has changed," Snow revealed. The kiss, hidden and safe, was warm against her heart.

"Everything?" Moira's dark eyes were fathomless, like the pool beside them. "Or just you?"

Speechless, Snow couldn't turn her eyes away from the old woman, being held prisoner by her sharp gaze. She turned the question over and over in her mind, and didn't know the answer. Her dumbfounded expression amused Moira greatly. The woman snorted, "Don't worry your little head with it love, it's all the same in the end."

Snow swallowed her sharp rebuke, chose silence instead. But it seemed Moira had not finished speaking in riddles. "Everything is another man's nothing, and something is sometimes everything and other times nothing… and a kiss is sometimes just a kiss."

Snow shook like she had been slapped. The shadow figures fell and tumbled, as she almost dropped the fire in to the dark water. Awkward and clumsy, she fought to keep a firm hold of the torch. It was her lifeline; suddenly terrified of the darkness, she felt panic approaching at the thought of not seeing, of being in the dark, completely helpless, alone.

Or not alone; Moira was still watching her, curious and amused. It didn't comfort Snow one bit.

"I must go now," Snow said, anxious to be among others, among their chattering and questions, among torches that burned more brightly, more steadily. She took a step towards the entrance of the cave, towards Moira, who stood like rooted to her spot, smiling wildly.

"No dear," the old woman said, "you just have to wake up."

Startled, Snow dropped her torch. Heart hammering, she watched as it hit the rocky floor, rolled around and then came to a halt. The flame flickered, struggled, and went out. The cave and the pool and Moira, they all blurred into darkness, and Snow fought not to scream. She couldn't see. The mountain would close her in a deep stony grave, never to be found, never to be loved –

Snow opened her eyes, blinked. Slowly, the black faded away, the light mixing in with the dark. The torch was still burning on the wall, where Eric had left it. She was sitting on the barrel, her neck stiff and her head heavy. Shuddering with cold, Snow rose stiffly, avoiding looking at the tunnel leading to the pool, half-expecting Moira to emerge from it at any moment.

She had fallen asleep. It had been just a dream, created by her tired mind. But it hadn't felt like a dream; if Snow was being honest, none of the dreams she had dreamed under the mountain had felt like regular dreams. With everything else, also her dreams had changed, had become riddles that hinted at the right answer, the hidden past and the unclear future.

She knew they were significant. She knew they were terrifying. And it was time for her to solve what they were trying to tell her.


	11. Chapter 11: Unsaid

Chapter 11: Unsaid

Time was constant; it didn't wait for any man. It didn't stop so people could better accommodate themselves to changes, so that they could take a deep breath and brace themselves. Time went forward, and so did Snow, exited and apprehensive about what the future might bring. The tumultuous thoughts still swirling in her head, she went through days that seemed oddly ordinary in the light of all that had happened, all that had changed. However, a routine was a great comfort. A structure, an order pushed aside the wilder, more desperate things in her mind, and gave her something to focus on.

Snow got quickly accustomed to life in the mines. She woke in the morning with the other women and helped them set out the breakfast. Almost everyone gathered in the central cave to eat the meals together, and breakfast had become a favorite part of Snow's day. In the morning, the conversation was mostly relaxed, a little sleepy; people were rested and the worries hadn't gotten hold of them yet. The new day was upon them, full of possibilities. But mostly Snow liked the breakfast time, because Eric always came to sit next to her, asking how she was, had she slept well. He looked at her with warm eyes, told her of his plans for the day, and then lapsed into comfortable silence for the rest of the meal.

Breakfast was followed by numerous chores, evenly distributed among the people. Sometimes Snow helped the women wash and mend the clothes, Julia always ready to instruct her how to do things properly. More often than not Beth rolled her eyes at Julia and drew Snow aside, her humorous and friendly company a joy. Snow enjoyed helping take care of the horses, the animals' gentle natures soothing her troubles. Henry, a painfully shy young man, had the main responsibility of the horses' welfare; luckily he tolerated Snow's presence as long as she didn't try to draw him into a conversation.

When chores had been done, Snow usually spent some time in the clearing, savoring the fresh air and natural light. Over the years people had brought books and parchment to the hideout; now Snow read them curiously, the letters and the meaning behind them coming back to her easily, falling quietly to the light from behind a curtain of mist. It felt miraculously wonderful to be able to read again, to hold a pathway into knowledge in her hands, to know she hadn't lost the skill, however unused and forgotten it had been during her imprisonment.

Sometime during the day William always sought her company, eager and warm, sure of his welcome. Mostly they talked about the past, the bright and happy memories, now more bittersweet than sugary. They talked about pranks and studies and games they used to play, about harmless things. William had been pleased and happy, when he had heard of her decision, convinced it was the right thing to do. His fondness and regard for her had grown more adamant, and were in the open for all to see. Snow was glad of him; she was, although she didn't quite know how to answer the adoration in his eyes and voice. It was one of the topics they avoided, as was the resistance's fight against the queen. However sure William had been about Snow's role in the coming fight, he didn't remark upon it now, but steadfastly ignored the subject. Maybe it was because there wasn't anything to talk about; the resistance was still hibernating, careful to be quiet and still to not rouse the beast's attention.

As much as William was avoiding Snow's prominence in the struggle against the queen, Eric on the other hand seemed to embrace it with a furious attention. The huntsman was adamant that Snow learn how to defend herself, learn how to fight. Although Eric hadn't sought out anyone's opinion on the matter, Thomas had wholeheartedly agreed when informed of the scheme. And so it was that Snow came to have fighting lessons every afternoon in the clearing.

It was still unthinkable to Snow to kill another human being, but she was rational and pragmatic enough to recognize that someday she might have to do so nonetheless. Their fights with the search party had made her aware how defenseless she really was against men, who were bigger than her and trained in the arts of war. Hence Snow was an attentive, if not wholly enthusiastic, student. Her teacher was competent, grim and strict; Eric, deadly serious about the importance of the task, tolerated no nonsense. In a strange way Snow was glad of the severity, for it kept her mind off the closeness of their bodies, off his hands adjusting her stance, off his warm breath on the back of her neck. When he was barking at her to concentrate, it was easier to forget how those same lips had kissed her so sweetly, so passionately.

They hadn't talked about the kiss. It lay between them, heavy and immovable, at the same time a source of sweet reminisce and anxious anticipation. Snow had thought that there was an understanding between them; a wordless vow of tentative more-than-friendship, of something like devotion, if she would be bold enough to name it that even in her own mind. But the more days went by since the kiss, the more she came to doubt herself. Was there really an understanding between them, or was it just a figment of her imagination? After all, he didn't seem to treat her any differently, and hadn't addressed the happenings in the storage in any way. And if his eyes seemed to sometimes sear through her, if his gaze settled hungrily on her lips, surely that could also be just her imagination, her own wishes playing havoc on her mind.

Brimming with uncertainty, Snow sometimes felt she could just burst. She wanted to ask Eric what it all meant, why he had kissed her, how they would go forward now that everything had changed between them. But the right words were never in her possession; moreover, hesitation and fear were all too quick to nip her courage in the bud. Other things were also hard to put into words. Snow had yet to tell Eric of her strange dreams and of her conviction that they were somehow significant. Every time he asked if she had slept well, she lied and felt immediately guilty. But how could she explain to him what she saw in her dreams, when she didn't understand it herself?

Snow dreamt every night. She had almost become accustomed to the strange dreams that were a queer mix of the past and something she was too afraid to name. One night the dream had begun normal enough; she had been a child, running through fields of corn. She had been happy, content, and somewhere far her brother had called for her. Except Snow didn't have a brother, and the home she had run to hadn't been her home, and the mother at the hearth hadn't been her mother. The next night she had been by the pool again, looking at its surface, the water turning into a great, golden mirror. Nothing else had happened, but just the sight of that big, round mirror had been enough to waken a baseless terror in her. Another dream had been an entangled collection of stray things: ravens that searched for her desperately; white milk spilling and drowning the floor; Greta a young girl and a crone at the same time, the skin switching from smooth to wrinkled in the blink of an eye; Greta turning into a cackling Moira; the queen's brother watching her sleep; a heart beating in the deep, furiously; Eric turning away, vanishing into darkness. From that dream Snow had woken sobbing, but other times she had managed to wake silently.

The women didn't suspect anything; at the most they thought she slept a little restlessly. Moira didn't sleep with them, she had her own little cave that Beth called her "witch's lair", but still Moira's eyes were knowing, and Snow was sure that somehow the old woman new much of what Snow struggled to say. Snow debated whether to confide in Moira or not; she wanted answers most desperately, but could she trust the old woman? Moira seemed mostly harmless, as she muttered to herself and tottered around the mines complaining of her ailments. However, most people seemed to be wary around her, and her cryptic words and sharp cackle were enough to chase some out of her way. Thomas was an exception, as he regarded his grandmother with a tolerant impassiveness, taking her occasional sharp rebukes in his stride. Beth didn't seem to hold any fear for Moira either, although the old woman definitely got under her skin, for Beth detested Moira's "nonsense".

If her new friends, who had known Moira far longer than she had, didn't fear the woman then there was no reason that Snow should be so apprehensive about her. She acknowledged the need for help, for her own reflections on her dreams hadn't yielded any results. Maybe Moira could offer her at least some more puzzling riddles. Or maybe she should just tell everything to Eric, even if he didn't have any answers, he would surely reassure her, make her feel better, not so alone. The crux of the matter was: Snow had to talk to someone.

-o-

It had been a week since the kiss, a week since Snow had dreamt of standing by the pool, talking with Moira. Now she was ready to talk with Moira again, expect this time it was not a dream. She had finally sought out the old woman, determined to get some answers to the questions burning in her mind. When Moira had retired to her own little cave after supper, Snow had seized the chance and had followed her.

Now she stood awkwardly at the entrance, the dim little space looking alarmingly like the lair of some solitary, dangerous beast. It was dank and stuffy and cramped. The light of a small torch revealed the miscellaneous things lining the walls and littering the floor; there were scraps of cloth, various pots and pans, parchment, glass bottles and vials, a heap of tattered blankets. In one corner there was a collection of dried plants and herbs and small white bones, all in a neat row. Snow shuddered and almost turned to go, uncertain.

"Don't just stand there girl," Moira said, bustling around her cave, picking things up and then putting them down again with a frown. "It's not very polite."

"I'm sorry," Snow said quietly, but to her relief her voice didn't betray her apprehension. "I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?"

"Well, now you ask," Moira muttered. She turned around to watch Snow, her eyes black as coal. For a small moment they both stood still, facing each other. Snow didn't dare to turn her eyes away. Finally Moira snorted and beckoned Snow inside, "Come in then! Pardon my humble abode. Sit where you will – not there…watch those bottles!" Snow swirled around, but there wasn't an empty spot where she could sit safely, without touching anything.

"Just sit on top of those blankets," the old woman ordered and Snow did as instructed, trying not to think of how filthy the material looked. Moira sat down in the middle of the cave, impatiently pushing some vials and parchment out of the way. When she had settled, she turned her small, penetrating eyes back on Snow.

Snow swallowed and tried to think of how to begin. Her mind was suddenly blank, all her earlier plans and thoughts about confronting Moira gone.

"Good grief girl," Moira sighed, "No wonder it took you this long to come – I would think you were mute as well as dumb, if I hadn't heard you speak just now."

Blushing from embarrassment, Snow reminded herself that she had sought Moira out for a reason; she needed answers and storming out now wouldn't solve anything but make her look even more foolish. "I have these…dreams. Since I came here. I want to know what they mean."

"And how should I know anything about your dreams?" The old woman sounded bored, but Snow could see the sudden sharp interest in her eyes.

Emboldened by her discovery, Snow said, "I think you do know something. And if you could help me – I would be so grateful."

"Gratefulness is worth next to nothing in here. But –" Moira paused and seemed to debate something silently. Snow waited with bated breath. "But you are the heir. And my grandson wants to help you. There is some softness in his hard heart still, and you remind him of his daughter." Again she paused, and Snow thought there was a shadow of sorrow in Moira's face. "But I fear your fate will be the same as Thomas' little girl, and so you'll bring him nothing but fresh pain – I should think to spare him from that at least."

"I want to help Thomas and the resistance to defeat the queen," Snow confessed, waiting for ridicule. For it was a rather laughable thought, that she could be of any help in a war.

"It's not a question of you helping the resistance, but of them helping you – _you_ will lead the fight," Moira's words were measured and severe.

"But what can I do? How can I fight back?" Snow's heart was beating wildly; Moira's words settled a heavy responsibility upon her that she didn't know how to bear.

"That is not for me to say, but for you to see."

"But how?" Snow asked, frustrated beyond any measure. It seemed that there would be no easy answers, not that she had really expected them, only hoped.

"The miners left this place, because they thought these caves were cursed. They said there was something queer in here, something that affected their minds," Moira told pleasantly, like she was telling a simple bedtime story. "They were not that very wrong. You can feel it, can't you? The heart, the core of magic, of all life itself – it is strong here, pulsing through this mountain, and getting stronger and wilder since you came here."

Snow did feel it; had felt it the very moment she had stepped into the caves for the first time. "The pool," she whispered, certain that it was the center of everything.

"Yes," Moira murmured, "it always is, has been, will be."

"That's why I dream?" Snow asked, although she already knew the answer.

"What is a dream if not another reality, a memory, the whisper of things to come – the pulse of magic," Moira looked at her sharply, a small smile on her lips. "You dream because it dreams and because she dreams – you are all bound together by blood and spell and beating heart."

A sudden flash of memory struck her then, a bride in her wedding dress, telling Snow, _I feel you and I are bound_. The horrible rage and planned betrayal had been hidden beneath a gentle smile, beyond a child's comprehension. The memory was bitter now; the last day before the fall, the joy of the wedding turned to grief, the pure white to bloody red.

"She wants my heart," Snow told, the horror of it once again fresh.

"Her power fades – she thinks you are the cure."

"I don't know why," Snow said, feeling the injustice of it suddenly very keenly, "Why me?" Why it had to be her that was hunted for slaughter?

Moira laughed. "Aren't you the fairest in all the land?" Her laugh was short and sharp, more like a bark. It was over as soon as it had begun, her next words harsh and without any mirth. "You know why."

Snow thought about her strange dreams, about the queen, her face always smooth and beautiful. She thought about the many pretty girls and young women in the cells around her, their youth turned into ash, their future years stolen from them. She had always known, but the truth had been too terrible to bear alone, in that dark prison, fearing she would be next. So she had not thought of it, had pushed it away, pretended it didn't happen.

"She drains the beauty, the youth – she needs it," Snow whispered it like a secret. "I think…she is old."

Moira nodded, pursed her lips. "Older than me." Her age was clearly visible in her wrinkled face, in her stooped figure, but now Snow imagined she could see the numerous years in Moira's eyes, the heavy pull of time in her gaze. "When I was a little girl, I lived in a village far away from here. One day, our liege lord got a new wife…young and beautiful. Within a fortnight the lord was dead and his new bride ruled in his stead."

"Ravenna," For the first time Snow said her name. It had always felt too intimate to call the queen anything but her stolen title; the name was acknowledgment of familiarity, of a bond. The title, however falsely taken, had formed a barrier between them. It felt odd to say the name now, but it was still somehow fitting.

"Yes. That is her name," Moira grinned and then rose from the floor slowly, wincing as her feet didn't want to follow the rest of her. Snow stood up to help, but the old woman waved her away, muttering, "Cursed bones, always giving me trouble." Seeing Snow watch her still, she grumbled, "You can go now, people need their rest. We have talked enough."

"Thank you for – for talking with me," Snow said, truly grateful for the old woman's help.

"I told you that I'll do nothing with your gratefulness – but I'll accept it nonetheless."

Snow gave Moira a small smile and left. It had been a strange but illuminating talk. She had found that to many questions she had already known the answers; she had just needed someone to nudge them out of her. Some of the answers had raised even more questions, and some hadn't been addressed at all. And although they had discussed many things, Snow felt that the most important things had still been left unsaid. But it was a start, and Snow decided it was a good one, one to be glad of.


	12. Chapter 12: Tidings

Sorry for making you wait! Also, thanks so much for reviewing, alerting and favoriting this story; it means a lot to me :)

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Chapter 12: Tidings

Next morning's breakfast was interrupted by tired-looking Gavin, who had left to scout the terrain over a week ago, right after the celebrations. He sauntered into the central cave disheveled, face smudged with dirt and clothes filthy. The lines of his rugged face were severe, his eyes sunken. The mellow atmosphere was instantly broken, and people were on alert, the last vestiges of sleep banished.

Gavin marched straight to the center, people making wordlessly room for him, and took the bowl of porridge Beth offered to him. The remnant porridge had sat in the pot some time and was probably only lukewarm, but that didn't seem to matter to Gavin, who spooned it up in great big noisy gulps. Only when he had finished, did he sat down, the empty bowl clattering against the stone floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent cave.

Snow held her breath, anticipation squeezing her insides into tight knots. In the mines, the outside world became easily something distant, something that was faraway, something that wasn't quite as real as the life in the mines. Even though Snow thought constantly about the happenings of her father's plundered kingdom, agonized over the sufferings of its people, and wondered what the queen and her brother were up to, the outside world was still, well, _outside_. The mountain had sealed her in a cocoon of rock, surrounding her with people she cared about. She couldn't help but feel that everything else was some distance away, unheard and unseen, and in some moments very unreal. But now there were news from the outside, tidings that were going to affect them all.

Other people were as anxious as Snow to hear what Gavin had discovered on his journey, and they were silently waiting for him to share the news. The mood in the cave was sharp and expectant, as if people knew that that very moment could be the turning point, the fork in the road. Gavin drained the water bottle he had been given, took a long breath and looked first at Thomas and then at William.

William seemed to take that as a sign to break the silence, for he shifted impatiently in his place and said, "Welcome back. It seems you had a rough journey."

"Did I ever!" Gavin exclaimed. "Those damn wolves hounding me day and night on the way back, sodding beasts –"

"The queen's men were chasing you? How far did they follow you?" Thomas sounded alarmed and others tensed, ready to spring into action.

"No, I…I mean wolves, literally. Real wolves," Gavin said, confused. Beth snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. Thomas gave her a sharp glare, but she only met his look with far too innocent eyes. Gavin however, oblivious to the pair's silent exchange, was already continuing, "A vicious pack they are, the leader biggest and meanest I have ever seen. Must have wandered over the mountains, searching for prey. Now on this side, they'll have a right feast."

"Well, obviously they didn't get you," William's voice was exasperated. "But what news of the queen and her men? Has she moved her army? How about the supply trains?"

"I went as far as Oakhollow, but the people in there were silent and surly. Didn't want to part with their bread, not that I can blame them, the folk seemed to be naught but skin and bone."

"I didn't ask about the people," William huffed, "I want to know –"

"They didn't have any food?" Thomas interrupted, face sober and voice calm. Almost against her will, Snow's thoughts turned into their storages, and she worried what would happen if no one was willing to trade with them anymore, and immediately felt guilty thinking only about their own needs.

"Only little, not enough to trade with us. The queen has taken more than usual – they say the soldiers came unexpectedly, took much of anything of worth, and questioned them." Gavin's face was grim, and he gestured towards Old Arthur. For a moment Snow was confused, but the old man clearly knew what Gavin's hand signal meant, for he reached inside his jacket, pulled out a water bottle and tossed it to Gavin. Gavin drank greedily, and Snow doubted the bottle's contents were mere water.

"Questioned them about what?" Eric's sudden sharp question brought everyone's attention to him, and to Snow, who sat beside him.

Gavin wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat, smearing the dirt already on his face wider. "Oh, they wanted to know, if anybody had seen a pretty girl and a crude huntsman traveling together. Demanded to know where they had gone, if anybody had given them anything." He grimaced and raised the bottle again, but halted before taking a drink, eyes solemn. "They were not happy, when the people couldn't tell them anything. Strung a few lads up, killed their only goat."

"What else did they tell you?" William asked, clenching his fists. His shoulders were rigid, his lips pursed in a tight line.

"Well, they don't love the queen, that much became clear," Gavin said smirking, "but getting the news from them – it was like trying to pull teeth out with only your fingers, when you really need good pliers, but can't use them because you don't want to scare people off." The image made Snow shudder.

"I trust you were discreet," Thomas remarked, but the brief constipated look on his face revealed that he very much doubted it.

"Of course!" Gavin sounded wounded that anyone would doubt his skills to be subtle. "I was careful! I had to offer up all my liquor –" His voice turned regretful, and as if to prove his point, Gavin took another swig out of the bottle he kept holding tightly in his hands. "But finally this one bloke started to talk and then he couldn't shut up, telling me his whole life story."

"Horrible, I'm sure," Beth said dryly. "But what did you find out?"

Gavin, looking a little sheepish, finally seemed to realize that everyone was tensely waiting for the rest of the news. "The queen is still very much looking for the princess – I mean Snow – and punishing anyone that gets in her way. That brother of hers is scouring the land, going from village to village looking for information." As he spoke, he turned to look at Snow, and his next words were clearly meant for her, "Lucky for us, the people don't know anything. They don't know where you have gone, and they don't know about this place."

For a brief moment Snow felt reassured; they would be safe in the mines, Ravenna and her brother (Finn, her mind whispered) couldn't find them. Eric shifted beside her restlessly, almost as if he wanted to contradict Gavin, but remained silent. Snow's anxiety returned tenfold.

"Did you ask about the supply trains?" William asked, the demand to know clear in his voice.

"That did not come up," Gavin sounded almost apologetic, and was quick to add, "I doubt they would have known anything about it, it would have just raised suspicions if I would have asked." He raised his eyebrows at Thomas as if to say, see _I can_ be discreet.

"Did you go to other villages? What about Moorland?" Thomas inquired. Snow had gotten a look at some of the maps that Thomas carefully kept in a leather satchel among his possessions. She had watched as Eric had traced his fingers over the dark lines and marks on the parchment, showing her what route they had taken, where Fenland was, where they now were. She knew that Moorland was the closest village to the mines; two days ride away, near the cabin they had stayed.

Gavin bowed his head, stared at the rocky floor. He was oddly reluctant to speak and a terrible foreboding took hold of Snow. "The queen's wrath is terrible indeed," he whispered. No one said anything, the mood in the cave turning even more somber. Gavin took one final drink and set the bottle aside. "It was burnt to the ground. All the villagers dead, left for the wolves. Aye, a right feast they had."

"Why?" Snow couldn't help but ask, unshed tears burning in her eyes.

"As a warning or a punishment – who knows why? That's her way to rule and control." It was Thomas who answered, and although his voice was calm, there was a fierce flash of anger in his eyes.

"The folk at Oakhollow said it was the queen's brother and his men who did the deed, because they…" Gavin hesitated and did not continue. But he didn't have to; Snow knew what he had been about to say and said it herself, "Because they traced our steps near to that village. Never mind that we never went there; the villagers were doomed from the moment we chose that route." Just like they had burned Fenland down, chased its people through flames and smoke, just to get to Snow. She looked around the cave, at all the people she had gotten to know, their faces concerned and grave. She wondered if she had sentenced them all to death by coming there.

"We'll revenge them," William's voice quivered with fury. "We will hit the queen where it hurts her most, we'll attack her supply trains and ambush her men, leave them to the wolves."

"We need more information first. We can't strike at anything if we're blind," Thomas said quietly but firmly. He looked at William resolutely, as if daring him to argue. William turned his eyes away first, but remarked only a second later, "We'll soon know where to strike. Sam and Tobias are due to be back soon – they'll bring all the information we need." He paused, still and hard as stone. "And then – then we will get our revenge."

-o-

As the morning turned into a day, the heavy mood only thickened. Snow did her tasks automatically, her mind far away from the caves. She thought about Moorland, only a blackened ruin now. She had never been there, but still she could picture it in her mind all too easily. She thought about other villages, people listening for the sound of hooves, terrified that the queen's men would come for them next. She thought about Finn, furiously searching for her, unleashing his rage against innocent people.

The weather was as miserable as Snow. The wind was sharp and biting, the sky heavy with dark grey clouds. Snow stood in the clearing, shivering without her long coat and wondering when it would start to rain. Eric had insisted that they had plenty of time to practice before the rain would start to fall, and so far he had been unfortunately right. After a grueling half-hour, Snow was ready to drop her weapon and retreat into a dark corner somewhere to cry out in exhaustion and misery.

Snow gripped her knife harder, trying to concentrate. Eric lunged at her, and she parried his knife with her own, then turned quickly to the side, ready to face him again. But he wasn't in front of her; a flash of movement and an arm sneaked around her neck, and before she could even raise her weapon, he was wrenching the knife from her hand.

"You are not even trying," Eric said, his voice gravelly. He was warm and solid behind her; both a familiar and an arresting presence. "You know how to avoid all the mistakes you just made."

"I forgot," Snow muttered, annoyed and embarrassed and tired in equal measure.

"You have to concentrate. There's no room for mistakes in a real fight."

"I know," She tried to sound contrite, but her voice came out as a frustrated wail. Eric released her, and she picked her weapon up, resigned to try again. But when she turned to face him once more, the huntsman only shook his head and sheathed his knife.

"Come, it'll rain soon," Eric said and strode towards the shed. Snow followed him, relieved that the practice was over, but ashamed of her poor performance. She would do better tomorrow.

It was dim inside the shed, but enough grey light came from outside for Snow to see the taut lines of Eric's shoulders, the resolute look on his face. With a flash of insight she realized she had been led to a trap, but it was too late to go back to the mines; a sudden whoosh and a strong clatter against the roof signaled that it had started to pour with rain. Snow could already see the words in his eyes, and knew she couldn't dodge his determination to get her to talk. Not unless she wanted to get drenched and to look like a fool fleeing his company. Her heart started to pound almost painfully. Would they finally talk about the kiss?

Eric went to a corner, where the bales of hay were piled up. He spread some of the hay on to the floor as padding and then sat down, taking a comfortable position, stretching his long legs. He looked meaningfully at the free space beside him and then at Snow. She fidgeted, unsure. Then she marched to one of the stalls, as if petting Spotty had been her intention all along.

The horse came to sniff her hand immediately, the velvety nose tickling her palm. The animal's big eyes followed Snow's every movement curiously. She started to pet Spotty's beautiful coat, feeling the strong lines of her muscles. The horse made a small whinny of content and Snow smiled.

"What happened to Moorland – and Fenland. That was not your fault; you know that, don't you?" Eric's low voice made her pause. Spotty neighed and turned towards Snow as if to see why she had dared to stop petting her, and Snow continued dutifully.

"I…it happened because of me, because we were there." It was easier to say the words than she had imagined and a relief to hear them; some of the weight inside of her loosened and drifted away.

"Do you think it is my fault that the queen burnt them down?"

"No!" Her vehemence surprised even her. But Eric was not to blame for anything that had happened; he had done nothing but help her from the moment they had met.

"If it's not my fault, then it certainly isn't yours either," he said steadily. "There are enough burdens to carry – no sense in taking the weight of something that doesn't belong to you."

"I know," Snow admitted. She knew he was right. "I just…it's not fair that he takes his frustration and anger out on innocent people." But life was not fair; it was a lesson she had learned on the night her father had been murdered, a lesson she had learned every day since.

Eric was silent for a while, as if considering his next words carefully. When he asked his question, it was with a hesitancy Snow was unaccustomed of hearing from him, "You know the queen's brother well?"

"As well as you can know someone, who doesn't talk to you but likes to watch you sleep," Snow snorted, surprised once again how easily the words crossed her lips. It was not something she had ever thought to share, the dark memories clinging tightly to her, isolated and somehow shameful. She pushed her head against the horse's mane, glad that Eric couldn't see her face.

"He just watched you?" Eric said flatly. He sounded calm, but there was something else just beneath the surface. It took a moment for Snow to realize it was fury and anguish and concern. She took a deep breath and made a decision. It was time to shed at least this one burden. She didn't want to carry it anymore.

"Yes, through the bars. I pretended to be asleep, wishing he would go away," Snow could almost feel Finn's gaze on her, hear his heavy breathing. The fear that came to her was almost as sharp as it had been then, as if she was still in her cell with him watching her. "He never came inside, but I always feared he would. I knew that someday he would." Spotty moved restlessly, sensing her distress. Snow soothed the animal, and at the same time tried to banish her own thoughts. Finn was far away from her; there was nothing to fear.

Eric was silent, but she knew he was listening intently, his whole attention focused on her. She plunged ahead, wanting to get the story to its end. "And one day, he did come inside. He came to take me to the queen. But first, he sat on my cot and…and I struck him with a nail, got out of the cell and escaped. So it was lucky, that he finally came inside." Her small laugh sounded brittle.

"That bastard," Eric said darkly.

"He just watched, he didn't hurt me," Snow was compelled to say, a small part of her wondering if the whole thing really was as awful as she thought it was.

"It wasn't right." The fury in his voice made Snow shiver and somehow feel better. "I promise, if I ever meet him again, I'll strike him with more than a nail," Eric swore and she knew he would keep his promise.

"Me too," Snow whispered it so quietly that only Spotty heard and whinnied her agreement.

Then Eric said, "Come here." Snow's heart jumped. It was not an order or a demand, but a softly spoken plea. She hesitated only a moment, before giving Spotty one final pat and leaving the stall to go sit next to him. Snow had wanted to do it the moment he had first wordlessly invited her to sit beside him; she didn't know why she hadn't. Now she finally sat down gingerly, leaning against a bale of hay. He immediately shifted closer and put his arm around her. She couldn't help but sigh and rest her head against his shoulder.

They sat in silence and listened to the rain. The rhythmic sound of patter was soothing, and the strength and warmth of his body next to her quieted all her fears. However, it was the firm support, the steadfast solace and the unfailing protection that he always offered her, that eased her heart most of all. It was his unique character, his skill to unburden her with just a few words. He was an amazing man.

Slowly, Snow was lulled to the soft border of sleep and wakefulness. She thought drowsily that she had been foolish to keep so much from him and resolved to tell him all about her dreams and Moira. She wanted to tell him everything – she would tell him everything. Before she drifted further down to the field of dreams, she felt him kiss her forehead lightly. Snow fell asleep with a smile on her face.


	13. Chapter 13: Storm

Chapter 13: Storm

A storm was building, gathering its strength. The downpour of the day before had been just a warning, a prelude of things to come. The grey clouds had changed; the sky was now a dark mass of rolling clouds that flashed past with furious speed, the wind rushing them along with brute force. A peculiar charge was in the air, a pressure that could be felt deep in the bones. Thunder was coming.

People were on edge, had been restless and anxious since hearing Gavin's news. Thomas was somber, the worry etching deep lines into his face. Beth's smiles were strained, and she was running short on patience, losing her temper more quickly and more loudly. William on the other hand was sullen and snappish, his mood turning blacker with every moment he had to wait for the scouts to arrive. Moira had vanished for long hours, just to materialize in time for supper, muttering things that no one could make head or tail of. It strained the atmosphere even further, until Snow was certain that something or someone was going to snap.

It was as if a storm was also building inside the caves, the restless charge making everyone fear and want the thundering release. Snow felt it keenly, her skin too tight, her senses too sharp, the throbbing ache in her growing. Everything in her was turned towards Eric; her eyes followed his movements, her ears listened for his voice, her skin yearned for his touch. It was maddening. Snow was whirling in the too strong gale, adrift on the stormy sea, powerless to change the direction she was being pushed and tugged at.

Eric had been silent the whole day. It appeared as if he was in his own world, lost in thought. His eyes were hooded and he didn't take part in any conversations, seemed to scarcely hear when people spoke to him. He looked unaffected by the restless atmosphere, untouched by the growing buzz and thrum. But Snow knew better. She had met his eyes unintentionally and the violent tempest in them had taken her breath away. He had lowered his gaze quickly, but not before Snow had seen the fraught tension, the strong will, the uncovered longing, all battling for dominance. She had seen the _hunger_ and it had made her shiver and yearn.

The huntsman had braved the weather and had disappeared outside, only coming back to supper. Snow had been torn between wanting to go with him and needing to leave him alone. In the end, she had decided to stay in the caves, however much the others got on her nerves, for she knew Eric would not have welcomed her company. She didn't begrudge him his moment of solitude, having taken many such moments herself. But Snow couldn't deny his absence made her jittery, turned her whole day into a long wait.

As the evening lengthened, people grew silent, the torchlight illuminating their tired faces. Snow was glad the day was almost at its end, and hoped that the thunder would break overnight; maybe then the storm would finally abate after spending all its strength. She took a couple of empty water bottles and decided that filling them would be her last chore of the day. After, she would go to bed and dream.

The water trickled serenely from deep inside the rock. The cave where the spring was located was small, hardly bigger than the tunnel that led to it. Snow had taken one of the few lanterns, more comfortable with a sheltered than open flame. She put the lantern on the ground and started to fill the water bottles, eager to finish her task. The dreams didn't frighten her so much anymore; truth be told, she rather looked forward to them. They were leading her towards something, and she wanted to know what or who or where awaited her at the journey's end.

She had told Eric of her dreams, of what she thought they meant. He had been curious, contemplative, cautious. Snow had seen that the possibility of magic made him uncomfortable, knew that he didn't trust sorcery, but still he hadn't told her of his misgivings or skepticism. The huntsman had accepted that Snow was going to embrace the dreams and that she couldn't turn away from them even had she wanted. However, he had expressed vehemently his distrust of Moira, and had told Snow to be careful with the old woman. And if ever she needed to talk about her dreams, he would always listen even if he couldn't offer much advice. The memory made Snow smile, warmed her chilled bones.

The cold water spilled over, soaking her fingers. Snow quickly capped the bottles, took the lantern and turned to go. The tunnel was almost too narrow and the blackness rushed to meet her despite the lantern. The small flame quivered as if afraid. Snow scoffed at her own rampant imagination, knowing that soon the tunnel would open into the food storage and after it into the main tunnel. She would soon be among others, in the familiar and occupied part of the mines.

The space around her widened, and the shapes of barrels and sacks materialized from the darkness. A tall shadow moved, a sudden living thing amid the inanimate objects, bringing her to a standstill, stopping her heart. Snow gripped the lantern, thousand fears coming true.

"There you are," someone said hoarsely. It took Snow longer than it should have to recognize William's voice. The recognition didn't relax her, didn't loosen her fingers around the lantern. The shadow stepped closer and the precious flame uncovered a man's dark shape, the features both familiar and strange.

"William," she said his name, hoping to make him more familiar still. "Why are you in the dark?"

"My torch went out. I thought to wait for you." There was an odd note in his voice, a hint of sharp strain.

Snow mustered up a smile, even though she doubted he could see it. "Well, I'll gladly share my lantern, until we get to the main tunnel." A couple of torches were always lit up along the main tunnel, day or night. It gave a sense of security, and also was a matter of practicality. In the case of a sudden attack there would be no time to get the fire started and fighting in the dark would almost surely lead into a catastrophe. Not to mention it was highly inconvenient to try to light up a troch in the middle of the night, half-asleep, when you needed to go outside to the privy. Snow raised the lantern higher, waiting for William to step aside, to let her lead the way. He didn't move.

"The thunderstorm is coming nearer. It's going to reach us during the night," William stated, voice flat. Snow couldn't see his eyes. "Maybe they'll ride through the night and be here tomorrow."

"Who?" Snow asked, not knowing how to withdraw from the cave, from his presence. She could see the heavy burden William carried, could sense how his anguish only grew with each passing day. She had unburdened herself to a listening friend; surely she could do the same for him?

"Sam and Tobias. I sent them to gather information about the army's movements. I need to know where and when to attack."

Snow sighed, and with some reluctance lay down the lantern and the water bottles on top of a nearest barrel. She doubted the conversation would be over quickly. "They'll be here. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon." She fell silent, considering her next words carefully. "I wish…you wouldn't rush into anything."

"You sound like Thomas." Scorn sharpened his words. William shifted restlessly, came a little closer to the light. Half of his face was in shadows, a dark foreboding mask. The other half was twisted in a scowl, the handsome features bitterly distorted. The sight made her heart ache.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," she confessed softly, a lump in her throat.

His face softened, the bitterness melting away. "I know," William swallowed, his eyes glistening. "But I have to – I have to do something. Do you see –" He broke off, and Snow was alarmed to hear a muffled sob.

"What? Tell me, please," she implored, wanting badly to ease his burden. She took a step towards him, but refrained from touching him.

William closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as if to steady himself. "My father always advocated caution, even more so than Thomas. I…I thought him a coward, but he had a responsibility to his people, he had to keep them safe." Even if his words had been in a foreign language, Snow still would have understood him, for his voice laid bare all his emotions: anger, sorrow, guilt, regret. "The last time I saw him…we quarreled. He didn't want me to go find you."

"Oh William, I'm so sorry." Suddenly William's guilt appeared in a new light, made sense to her. Snow could only imagine what she would have felt, if her last parting with her father had been marred by an argument.

"I didn't listen to him – I never did. And so I wasn't there when they attacked, when they burned my home to the ground. I wasn't there when they killed my father!" William's voice rose into an agonized, strangled cry. Snow couldn't think of anything to say to ease his pain. She knew that no amount of "it wasn't your fault" or "you couldn't have done anything" would convince him that he wasn't to blame. She knew it all too well, having spent many dark nights in her cell wondering if she could have done something to save her father. If only she had noticed what Ravenna was, if only she had woken up earlier. Never mind that she had been just a child, that rationally she knew that there had been nothing to do. Still, she had wondered.

"He died alone, in pain – sad and angry that I had abandoned both him and my duty," William whispered brokenly.

"No!" Now Snow knew exactly what to say. "He was _glad_. I know he was glad and relieved that you weren't there, that he didn't have to watch you die." Snow couldn't help but take hold of his hand, grasp his palm into a bruising grip, wanting him to believe. "Your father wanted you to live. He loved you."

She could see him clearly now. His cheeks were wet, and a fresh tear was slowly falling from his wide, dark eyes. William looked destroyed; like he had fought a lifetime and had finally been forced to succumb, crumbling under the broken ruins of his father's stronghold. He gripped her hand like she was his lifeline, the only thing still keeping him standing.

"I loved him too," William choked. "But if I had known – I still…" He paused, gritting his teeth, chest heaving with sharp breaths. The rest of the words were ripped from him like a painful wound being torn open. "Even had I known what was about to happen, I still would have come for you."

The confession settled heavily onto her shoulders, sucked all the air from the cave. It was too much. Snow's grip slackened, but William kept holding her hand, clutching her fingers. His other hand came to rest against the back of her neck, drawing her closer. "I'll always come for you, for I love you." With a wild look in his eyes, William crossed the small distance between their lips and kissed Snow deeply.

Somehow it all seemed sudden and unexpected. As if from a great distance, Snow examined them kissing. His lips were chapped and warm against hers, the flavor of them salty but not unpleasant. The hand on her neck was heavy, not letting her escape. Without a thought, curiously, she opened her mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

A heavy thud rang in the cave like a loud shout. Snow disentangled herself from William, stepping back with her heart hammering. The light was somehow brighter, reaching the spaces that before had been left in darkness. She could see William's flushed face, his stunned eyes. Behind William was Eric; he was standing at the mouth of the cave, a burning torch in his hand. The huntsman's expression was gloomy, his eyes bleak.

In spite of her fierce blush, Snow felt suddenly cold, biting ice burrowing deep into her. William turned around to look at what she was staring, and Eric's face morphed into a small, sardonic smile. Somehow it was worse than the stony look he had held before.

"The people are settling down to sleep; I came to see what kept you," Eric's said brusquely, his voice harsh.

"I finished my chores," Snow said, taking her lantern and the water bottles, and pushed past first William and then Eric. She didn't look either of them, couldn't raise her eyes, her face still burning from mortification, her hands trembling. She fled from the storage room, her heart heavy with a nameless guilt, Eric's bleak eyes reaching deep into her soul, making her ache with desperation and remorse.

-o-

"I love you," he said. It was William's voice, but Eric stood before her, still and silent and hard as the mountain.

Snow wanted to say the words back, but they eluded her tongue, vanished until she couldn't remember the right tone, the correct sounds. She reached out her hand, but he was too far away, farer away still, until only darkness remained.

For a long time, as long as it took for the stars to be born and to die, Snow was alone. And then from the darkness emerged a golden mirror and from the mirror a golden face.

"I'll always come for you," Ravenna whispered, her eyes burning with dark fire, "for you and I are bound." The ravens flew around her, swirled madly, covered her from head to toe, until all was black feathers and sharp peaks and terrible claws. "Bound!" They cried as one and cackled.

Her mother walked Snow back to her cell, and kissed her brow, when Snow curled in her cot to sleep. "I told you not to go too far," she admonished Snow, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. "Don't be sad dearheart, love always betrays us."

She went to stand against the wall, to watch Snow sleep. Others joined her as well, Greta and all the other women and girls whose names Snow had forgotten. They watched over her, silently guarding her sleep. Snow closed her eyes and dreamed.

She dreamed how the snow fell to cover the frozen ground. The sound of hooves came closer, thundered and shook the very earth. Cold steel sang its terrible song, and people gave up their offerings with shrieks and cries and red blood. The thunder rode closer, reaching for her with bony fingers.

Her mother took hold of her, desperation warring with a strong will. It would not be the end. "Your beauty is all that can save you, Ravenna," her mother said, and blood dripped from Snow's hand and then the thunder took her, and all else fell away, only her mother's scream echoing through night after night.

"Avenge us!"

All was dark, before Snow opened her eyes. The torch's flame flickered, chased the shadows. The awful cry of revenge echoed in the cave, Snow's heart beating in accompanying tempo. Still, the sleeping women were undisturbed, their soft breaths and small snuffling sounds soon attuning Snow back to the reality, offering her some comfort.

Snow went through the dream again in her mind as had become her custom, tried to press it into her memory. Every detail, however small or uncomfortable or confusing, could later prove to be significant. She lingered on her mother's face, so dear and lost long ago, and then proceeded to examine the scene of attack. It was not the first time Snow had dreamed of the brutal raid into the small village, nor the first time she had seen the scene from Ravenna's eyes. Surely, whatever had happened there was still important.

After going over her dream over and over again, until it was as sharp as the memory of yesterday, Snow lay on her sleeping mat, wide awake. Before, sleep had come surprisingly easy despite all that had happened – William's confession and kiss, Eric's dark look and accusing eyes – but now further rest eluded her. Snow was anxious, worried, undecided. She would have to talk to Eric and William both, she needed to explain. But what could she say? How could she convey to William that he was important to her, that she cared about him, but that she couldn't be to him what she herself so obviously was to him? How could she explain to both of them that she hadn't meant to kiss William back? She had to tell Eric that he was…that what she felt for him and only for him…that there was no one else.

Frustrated, Snow turned and shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. All of her explanations would have to wait till morning. Suddenly, a faint rumble could be heard. Snow stilled and listened, wasn't sure what the sound was. Soon it came again, a soft roar that was just discernible over the sounds of sleep and the crackle of fire. It was finally thundering outside.

With as little noise as possible, Snow rose up and tiptoed through the caves into the main tunnel. She had a sudden urge to be closer to the storm, to see the streaks of bright lightning, to hear the crash of thunder that followed. Maybe the fresh air would clear her head, pull the words she needed out of the confusing fog of her mind.

The thunder grew louder as she neared the entrance of the mines. The cold air became danker and sharper, the smell of rain strong and sweet. A brilliant flash of blue almost blinded her for a moment, revealed that the entrance was not so far ahead. Snow walked steadily forward, the dark ebbing away as she approached another lit torch. It was the last source of light before the nature's light outside, the flame quivering violently in the draft. Snow drew past it, and the steady beat of rain was momentarily drowned out by a deafening boom of thunder. Startled, she saw –

Eric was standing at the entrance, his back to her, looking outside.

For a small, minimal moment, Snow thought to turn away before he would notice her. But her want and will overrode the fear, and so she stepped closer, until they were standing abreast. A most amazing sight greeted her: blazing lines, stark and vivid, were being drawn to the bruised sky that hung precariously over tall, dark mountain walls.

"Magnificent," he said without looking at her.

"Yes," Snow agreed quietly. They watched nature's proud display of force in silence, until Snow took a step back. She was shivering with cold and the gale had turned abruptly, thrusting the rain towards them. She retreated a few paces more, deeper into the tunnel, not really wanting to leave, but knowing she couldn't stand there the whole night. Now the huntsman turned to look at her.

"You're cold. Where's your coat?" His deep voice burrowed into her very bones, took hold and settled there. With a flash of despair and joy Snow knew she would carry him with her always, however things ended. The insight robbed her of words, and so she only shook her head. She hadn't thought to take her coat with her.

Eric strode to her, taking his own coat off. He wrapped it round her smaller frame, his hands coming to settle on her shoulders. The look in his eyes arrested her, took hold of her and refused to let go. Snow swallowed.

"Eric…," she whispered, not knowing how to continue.

"I told you once that I am not a good man," he said. His hands slid slowly down from her shoulders, caressing her arms, and ended up twined around her waist. "I meant it. I am a selfish man; a jealous man." They were standing so very close; his breath tickled her skin. The thrum and buzz of thunder were making havoc inside her, the charge building and building and building. Lightning stroke and thunder boomed and the whole world was in tumult.

Snow raised her trembling fingers towards his face, rested them lightly on his coarse cheek. "You're perfect to me," she confessed. It was the truth. She couldn't imagine Eric to be like everybody else, didn't want him to be any different.

"Snow –," his breath hitched. "You're everything that I want – you're _all_ that I want."

"You have me," she vowed, her heart wide open and raw.

"Do I really?" Eric asked desperately, but before Snow could answer, before she could reassure him that she really was his, had been for a while and would always be, he pressed a kiss to her lips. It was a light kiss, impossibly gentle, and yet she felt it to her very core. She carded her fingers through his hair, tried to pull him even closer. In an instant, the kiss turned more demanding, fiery and frantic. They pressed against each other, and the hardness of his body was a sweet pressure, heating her up. They stumbled backwards, until her back met stone. She was trapped and didn't give a damn.

When he broke the kiss, Snow gasped for air, but there was to be no respite. His lips trailed feverishly along her neck, and when he bit her skin lightly, she shivered from head to toe. He soothed the bite with his tongue, sucking and kissing until she was moaning from helpless pleasure. At the same time, his hands had a will of their own; they caressed her sides, stroked her back, all the way from the back of her neck lower and lower, until they finally cupped around her bottom, drawing her flush against him.

They both breathed heavily, and the red-hot desire drove all common sense from Snow's mind. Her hands tugged at his shirt, desperate to get to feel his warm skin. Eric sought out her lips again, and she sighed into the kiss, thinking she could never again live without this; his breath against her skin, the press of his lips on hers, the sound of his heavy groan in her ear.

Snow was getting impatient with all the cords and buttons, and frustrated, she growled and yanked at his leather vest. Eric laughed, sounding breathless and happy. Grinning, Snow nipped his jaw, and then buried her smile against his throat, kissing it gently. Her hands continued to roam over his broad chest, fanning the flames of want. She opened her legs and felt his strong thigh press between them.

She was dizzy, hot and laden with a nameless want that she tried in vain to name. "Eric…," she murmured, frenzied, "I want – I want to…"

"You drive me crazy," he groaned and gripped her harder to him.

They continued to trade heady kisses, not getting enough of each other, until suddenly someone cleared a throat, loudly. They sprang apart, and Snow leaned against the rocky wall, her limbs languid and her mind sluggish. Heart beating furiously, it took her a moment to grasp the situation before her.

Gavin was standing a few yards away, looking deeply uncomfortable. His eyes flashed to Snow, and then to Eric, but the huntsman's sharp glare made him wince and turn his eyes quickly away towards the entrance of the mine, looming behind Eric.

"I, uh…didn't mean to interrupt anything, just – I just needed to use the privy," Gavin stammered. "It's still raining, eh? Well, that'll be a wet trip. I should look in on the horses while I'm there." His awkward words were met with silence, and Snow had a sudden urge to laugh at the absurd situation. Poor Gavin! The man shuffled his feet, cleared his throat again. "You know this is not the best place…there are, um, a few places where people usually go to – to be together, in private. When they need privacy…" He trailed off under Eric's foreboding look.

Pointedly, Eric shifted aside, freeing the path to the entrance. "Right, uh, I need to go…" Gavin muttered and swiftly strode pass them, dashing outside to the still raging storm. Snow giggled, the excitement and tension slowly easing off, leaving her drained.

Eric offered her a slow grin that morphed into a soft smile. "I think we should go back to sleep, or Gavin will be too afraid to come back inside."

Snow doubted that she could sleep, but she nodded and let Eric lead them back to the central cave. To her relief everyone else was still asleep. Before she could continue to the women's sleeping chamber, Eric drew her to him and laced their fingers together. Drugged again by his nearness, Snow could have gladly spent the rest of the night just like that, standing there quietly in his embrace. But after a quick kiss to her forehead and another to her lips, Eric released her, and Snow reluctantly sneaked back to her sleeping mat.

The rest of the night she lay there, wide awake, thinking about the secret only she now knew; his bright eyes giving her the world, as he bent down to kiss her soul-deep.


	14. Chapter 14: Caught

Hi! Sorry for making you wait for an update! Unfortunately, I fear you'll also have to wait a little longer than usual for the next update. School work is piling up and I have a very stressful move to a new apartment coming soon. With some luck, I estimate that I can update in sometime in the beginning of December.

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Chapter 14: Caught

Snow could not stop smiling.

The powerful rush of emotion and desire of the night before had gentled, but was no less sweet or intense. The kisses and touches they had exchanged were at the forefront of her memory, threatening to upstage the reality itself; more than once she was so lost in them that whole conversations, not to mention people, passed her by without her noticing. The only exception was of course Eric. He took all her attention, all her thoughts, by merely being in the same space with her.

Snow was fairly certain that all could guess what had happened between her and the huntsman. How could they not, when Snow couldn't help but look at Eric, blushing and smiling, her heart speeding recklessly, when he answered her look and smile with his own. She wanted nothing more than to take hold of his hand and drag him somewhere private and continue the…activities that Gavin had so rudely interrupted. However, she dared not, when there weren't any private spaces to be found in the caves during the day, the people coming and going heedless of anyone's privacy. Although it didn't seem that Gavin had told others of what he had interrupted, Snow could not take the risk of someone else seeing her and Eric together, not when she had yet to tell William.

Her old friend had not been at breakfast, having left to survey the damage the storm had wrought at first light, and Snow had been relieved. She knew she couldn't pretend to be indifferent towards Eric, couldn't conceal her true feelings, and she had been afraid that with one glance William would have known everything. That knowledge, Snow knew, was unavoidable, and the sooner she told William, the better off they would all be, but she didn't want it to happen during breakfast with all the people as their audience. William deserved better than that. He deserved all the happiness the world could offer, but Snow couldn't be the one to give it to him. She could only hope that he would understand.

The upcoming conversation with William made her apprehensive, sad and slightly guilty, but those dark feelings couldn't cling to her long. One look from Eric, his eyes warm and bright, and the happiness filled her up again, threatening to burst her heart. She couldn't help but smile. Snow couldn't remember when she had last felt like this, light with joy, everything precious in the world within her fingertips. The heady desire was a new feeling, the fierceness of her passion startling, a little frightening. She hadn't imagined to ever want another like this; desperately, throughout, to the end of everything.

It would have been absolute agony, if her feelings had been rejected, if they would have been left to burn inside of her, futile, with no hope of acceptance, of consummation. However, from the very first look Eric had given her at breakfast, Snow knew their closeness of the night before had not been an isolated incident, but a current state of affairs and a promise of more things – deeper, fuller – to come. During breakfast, Eric had sat beside her, so close his thigh had almost touched hers. He had been quick to pass first the cup, then the spoon and the porridge bowl to her, his fingers lingering on her hands a moment too long for it to be just a casual, accidental touch. Snow had blushed up to the roots of her hair, certain all could hear her heart thudding, quick and loud.

Snow had scarcely noticed the way Gavin had avoided both her and Eric's eyes, devouring his breakfast as quickly as possible and then vanishing outside. Nor had she followed the conversation around her, Thomas' and the others' words had been just meaningless background noise, as her whole focus was on the man beside her and the warmth that seemed to seep from his body into hers, heating her up. Snow had only come out of her daze, when Beth's worried voice had demanded an answer from her. She had mumbled that she was fine, just a little tired, and had tried hard not to squirm and blush under Beth's sharp gaze. It had not helped that Eric had snorted almost inaudibly and had pinched her thigh quickly. His eyes, when Snow had turned to look at him indignantly, had been alight with mirth, and his mouth had twitched with an impish grin. She had very much wanted to kiss him then.

She did kiss him later, all her good intentions of waiting until they had absolute privacy, until she had told William, vanishing from her mind, when he took hold of her waist and pressed her against the wall of the women's chamber. The sleeping place was momentarily empty, but the central cave was not; the short tunnel between the caves did nothing to silence the people's voices, their animated talking. Snow had a brief moment of anxiety, thinking how anyone could come at any moment and see them there, embracing, but her protest died in her lips as his expert hands caressed her slim waist, his fingers pressing into her skin, his touch burning through the layer of her clothes.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Eric murmured, the want in his eyes making her breath catch. Somehow, despite being nearly incoherent by his nearness, by his wandering, wonderful hands, Snow managed to answer, "Apparently something…that makes you –" One of his hands cupped gently her breast and all her thoughts ground to a halt.

"Yes?" The huntsman asked all too innocently, his hands continuing their pleasurable exploration, unrelenting.

"Something that makes you pinch me in the middle of breakfast!" Snow whispered furiously, trying to sound irritated, but the hitch in her breath, when he drew closer still and mouthed her neck, rather betrayed her. Eric lifted his head and gave a low chuckle, "I could not help it." He kissed the corner of her mouth lightly, sweetly. "It was that, or kiss you silly in front of everyone." She panted and tried to chase his mouth, but his lips teased her, peppering her with light, quick kisses to her cheeks, nose, jaw, around her eyes. "Forgive me, love?"

In that moment, she could have forgiven him anything. He didn't need to know that though. "Maybe…" she sighed, her hands clutching his strong arms, "If you kiss me."

"I thought I was doing just that," Eric said, between kissing the tip of her ear and the side of her face. He sounded amused.

"I meant properly," Snow muttered, distracted by his hot breath, his lips so close to her mouth now, and his clever, devious hands stroking her hips, pulling her tight against him. Eric's smile widened, and he started to answer, but Snow never heard it; his words were lost between them, when at last they came together in a fervent, knee-weakening kiss. All else vanished, and only they remained, so entwined Snow imagined her heart's roots growing deep within him, joining the pulsing line of his life, fusing into one. There would be none that could uproot them from each other now.

Only the need to breathe forced them apart, and as Snow gasped for air, she felt full, suddenly too big for her own skin. How could one hope to contain so much feeling, so much happiness?

Eric drew back a little, so he could watch her face intently. His expression had turned solemn. "I should court you properly," he said as he touched her cheek gently with his thumb, "You deserve gifts and poetry and walks in the moonlight and whatnot – all the bright things in this world." He smiled ruefully, "I am not very good at that."

"I don't care about any of that," Snow declared vehemently.

"Nonetheless…" Eric sighed, sounding remorseful. "I wish I could give you all that you deserve. Your kingdom and your throne. The love and adoration of your people." He swallowed, and his voice turned gravelly with emotion, "I want to give you your home back, but I…I don't know how." Snow could see that it cost him dearly to admit his powerlessness, knew that above all he hated to be helpless. She shook her head, his words striking deep. _My home is with you_, she thought, knowing it to be true.

"You don't have to," she whispered instead, overcome with the need to ease his heart. She wanted to tell the huntsman that she didn't expect him to solve any of her problems, nor did she think any less of him for it.

"I know," Eric smiled slightly, a distant look in his eyes. He gave her a quick kiss and then reluctantly let go of her. "Someone is bound to come soon. I should go." Snow wanted to protest, wanted to draw him to her and kiss him again, but she knew he was right. And so she watched him leave the chamber, vowing that soon it wouldn't matter how many times they would be caught embracing; soon everyone would know they were together, for better or worse.

She leaned against the rocky wall, breathing deep. It was time to find William.

"So you are caught."

Snow startled violently; Moira had managed to catch her unawares again. The old woman stood at the entrance, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. "Caught you are, tight." Snow saw no point in trying to deny the words, nor did she want to talk with the old woman about anything else.

"I have to go," she said resolutely, ready to push past Moira.

"Yes, he waits for you," Moira's gaze was penetrating and Snow faltered despite her will. The old woman tilted her head slowly, like a curious bird. "You want to be gentle, but that will only hurt him more."

"I…" Snow swallowed painfully, the words impossible to say. She felt very selfish suddenly, wanting her happiness to remain unmarred by the sadness and guilt she felt when thinking of William.

"Child," Moira said with something like kindness and a lot more like pity, "someday you'll learn that some hurts go too deep to heal."

Snow could not deny that either; she pushed past Moira at last, throat too tight and heart too full with warring emotions.

-o-

Snow did not get far. She was on the way outside, having heard that William had just returned, when Beth called for her. Snow sighed impatiently. She didn't know if her courage could endure another interruption; she had to speak to William as soon as possible, before she would lose her nerve. As Snow stopped, Beth hastened to her side, breathless.

"Snow, I need to talk to you," Beth said, the tone of her voice revealing her urgency.

"Now?" Snow knew she sounded plaintive. She could see the daylight ahead, the mouth of the tunnel dimly visible.

"It's important," Beth claimed. She looked behind her and then peered over Snow's shoulder. No one was there; for the moment, they were alone. She didn't waste time with twisting and turning her words, but got straight to the point. "You have been speaking with Moira."

Snow was surprised; she had half-expected to hear something about her and Eric, or something about William. Beth didn't wait for her confirmation or denial, but continued quickly, "I don't know what you have been talking about, but you should be careful – she isn't as harmless as she seems."

"I just – we have just talked, or well, she has mostly talked and I haven't understood half of it," Snow said, not wanting to explain her dreams. She felt compelled to add, "It's been nonsense mostly."

Beth looked at her pointedly, clearly disbelieving. "Moira…she has a way of getting inside your skin. Believe me; I know how convincing she can be. She is like a dog with a bone, never letting go, until you believe her _wisdom_." The word wisdom was laden with contempt. Beth's voice was intense, willing Snow to take heed of her words. "I know it may seem that she can be of some help to you, but Moira only follows her own interests and if those aren't the same as yours…"

"Beth – I don't really know what to think, to be honest." Snow was baffled. She had always thought that Moira was a little creepy, her mutterings sometimes alarming, sometimes incomprehensible, but still always mysteriously hitting their mark. There was something unearthly about the old woman, but Snow had never though her dangerous or intentionally malicious.

Beth bit her lip, debating something in her mind. She looked again around them, making sure they were still undisturbed. "I…it's obvious that I don't like her. She has never accepted me, and she tried her hardest to keep me and Thomas apart." There was old bitterness in her voice, festering under the surface. "But it isn't just that. Moira – people used to go to her, when they needed potions and spells. And not just for healing a sickness or blessing the crops, but for dark things."

Snow was still reeling from the knowledge that Beth and Thomas were apparently having a love affair to really take in what else Beth was saying. Spells and potions? Dark things?

"And now that you and Eric are together…" Beth's voice lost some of its self-assurance and she flushed slightly. "If…if you need something to…when you – you don't have to go to Moira."

It took Snow for a moment to realize what Beth was trying to say, but when she understood, Snow blushed fiercely. It hadn't even crossed her mind that she would need something to prevent pregnancy.

Beth saw Snow's embarrassment and discomfort and smiled softly. "I'm sure that Eric knows what to do, but if you are uncertain or want to know anything – you can always ask me," she said reassuringly. Snow could only nod, too mortified to speak, but still touched by Beth's offer. The nod seemed to be enough for Beth; she smiled and turned to go back deeper into the mines.

For a moment Snow just stood there, in the middle of the main tunnel, her thoughts reeling. Embarrassed, she felt keenly how inexperienced she really was. Snow had pieced together long ago from folk's talk what lovers did together, but in reality she was just going by her instinct and want, eagerly following Eric's lead. But what if she would make a mistake? What if he would be unsatisfied with her?

Snow shook her head as if to clear her mind, and snorted to herself. Resolutely she pushed her fears aside, acknowledging how silly they were, how unnecessary. When she was with Eric, everything seemed to happen spontaneously, by itself. Like there was no other course to be taken, like their every touch and kiss was necessary, predestined. And Snow knew that Eric would never steer her wrong.

Suddenly a burst of laughter echoed in the tunnel. A group of men were coming towards her, and Snow tried to look casual, like she hadn't been standing there by herself at all, lost in thought. She quickly passed them by and headed for outside, her heart's rhythm picking up speed. A small part of her wished that she wouldn't find William, but a much larger part of her insisted that she would not be cowardly. She had to do what was right.

William was in the clearing. He was clashing swords with Kurt in what looked more like a real fight than any practice. The men whirled around each other, trying to find a weakness they could exploit, grunting with effort when they parried the other's strikes. William looked furious, attacking more than defending, his harsh breathing audible even over the clang of metal.

Snow stood against a rock wall quietly, unwilling to interrupt them and break their concentration. Dismayed, she watched as the fight grew in intensity, half-fearing it would end in someone being wounded. However, after a few tense moments, Kurt's sword was clattering to the ground, and William pressed his weapon against the man's breast. Kurt acknowledged his defeat good naturedly, clapping William on the back.

The men seemed to notice her presence at the same time; Kurt gave her a courteous nod, but William tensed and half-turned away. Snow's spirits sank even lower. Kurt knew when he wasn't wanted and excused himself quickly, vanishing inside the tunnel. Now the clearing was empty, save for Snow and William.

"William," Snow said, gathering up all her courage, "I need to talk to you."

He was still half-turned away from her, eyes resolutely fixed on the surrounding mountain wall. "I know what you are going to say." His voice was bleak. "Nothing here stays secret."

"I wanted to tell you myself." Snow felt like all her carefully thought lines were rendered null now that there was no breaking the news; William already knew and the hurt she had been trying to avoid causing was already present. "I never meant to deceive you in any way."

"I was a fool to think you would love me," William said sharply, turning to look at her at last. He wore a stony expression, but his hopeless, angry eyes betrayed him. He was still sweaty from his fight, and strands of his hair were plastered to his forehead. He looked like he had fought and lost. "I should have known from the beginning, from the way you looked at him, followed his every move."

"William," she tried desperately, "I do care about you, but –"

"But only as a friend," William scoffed, but then continued almost pleading, "If I had found you earlier, maybe things would be different, we could have…"

Snow didn't know if things would have turned out differently, if she had met William sooner after meeting Eric, but she could only believe she would have fallen in love with Eric regardless. She could not confess that to William though. "I'm sorry," Snow said softly, "for hurting you, but I can't help how I feel."

"Of course not," William gave a mirthless laugh, "don't worry, none of this is your fault." But the tone of his voice belied his words, and Snow felt her throat tighten. She didn't know what to say to him; all her words were useless.

William looked at her, resigned. "For what it's worth, I'll be your friend. Can't really stop now, just because you want someone else." Snow gave a watery smile, feeling pathetically grateful. "And as your friend," William continued emphatically, "I hope you'll at least listen to me."

"I'll always listen to you," Snow promised. Even as a child she had wanted his opinion and that hadn't changed.

"Eric, he is…" Snow tensed as William said the huntsman's name. His voice was grave when he said, "I know you think the world of him, but be careful. I fear he'll end up disappointing you, proving to be unworthy." Snow was already silently shaking her head, but William wasn't finished. "You'll be hurt, if you're not careful, so show a little restraint." The last was said almost cuttingly.

Snow had promised to listen, not to agree, and so she said with forced calmness, "I think you are wrong."

"And if I'm not?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Snow confessed, determined. For a moment they looked at each other, standing a few feet apart and farther now from each other than they had been during all those years they hadn't even known if the other still lived.

It was the end of the discussion, but not, Snow hoped, their friendship.


	15. Chapter 15: Shadows

Chapter 15: Shadows

The torchlight glittered on the surface of the dark stone. It ebbed and flowed gently like the water under her; dimmed, merged softly with the darkness, and then suddenly pulsed into being again, glistening like jewels. It was entrancing, arresting and peaceful at the same time.

Snow let the pleasantly cool water carry her, enjoying the quiet and the emptiness. She was alone, and her thoughts' many sharp edges were dulled. The guilt, apprehension, the creeping misgivings, all were just formless, silent shapes, floating slowly around her, disappearing into the dark waters of the pool. Even the thrilling want, now ever-present in her, and all the feelings that made her heart ache and throb so sweetly and painfully, were just a soft murmur, there still but no longer so dangerously overwhelming.

It felt like dreaming, although Snow was fairly certain she was not asleep; the water was real against her naked limbs, and if she rose slightly, the coolness of the air turned her skin into gooseflesh. She had visited the pool so many times in her dreams, the mysterious place offering an anchor of sort amid the sometimes too fevered, confusing, frightening visions. It was not an unwavering anchor, as it could be treacherous, ever-changing into something else. However, it was by now familiar, as solid as anything in dreams ever could be. The pool seemed to belong into her dreams, and perhaps that was why before Snow had avoided going there to simply bathe.

She really couldn't fathom why, now that she was merged with the water, her whole body blessedly relaxed and languid, like tight ropes had been cut from around it at last, allowing her to move freely. Snow lifted her toes above the water, wiggled them and plunged them beneath the water once again. The different shades of darkness danced across the pool, taking her in. Against the rock, the flames twisted and turned, formed images of past, present and future. If only she could interpret their message, understand, know it all.

Now, more than ever, she wanted to _know_. After meeting the resistance, Snow had wanted to help them to get a good future, a better life, free from Ravenna's tyranny. She wanted a better future for all the land and its people, had desperately wanted to know how she could help to make it so. But she had never quite seen herself in that future, hadn't really believed she could fit in there too. All Snow had been able to think was never getting imprisoned again, living somewhere…anywhere, free.

But now Snow found herself wanting a good future for herself too – a future with Eric, and it was imperative that she got to know how to get that future. Watching the shadows form fleeting, secret shapes, for the first time, she let herself believe that the future she wished for could be possible, could become a reality. A future, where she and Eric could marry and live together and maybe someday have a family. Although, in all honesty, none of the above was necessary, if only they could be together, in peace, no one hunting them. And to her great shame, Snow knew she could settle for even less: if there was no way to overthrow Ravenna, she could live in a future where the false queen reigned, if only Eric was with her.

The sound of a sharp intake of breath jostled Snow out of her thoughts. Eric was standing at the edge of the pool, and for a moment Snow thought she had conjured up his image with her thoughts. But the widening of his eyes, betraying surprise, was not anything she could have imagined, nor was the almost nervous twitch of his body, held rigorously in place. For a brief moment, he looked stunned, as if finding Snow in the pool was the last thing he had expected.

"I…forgive me; I didn't know you were here." Eric's eyes were fixed on her, and although Snow knew the dark water made it impossible, she imagined he could see her naked body under the surface. She shivered, the intense want for his nearness, for his touch once again overtaking her.

"It's alright," Snow said, the murmur of her heart strengthening into a thunder, "I didn't tell anyone that I would come here. I wanted…just some peace and quiet."

Eric stiffened and tore his gaze away from her. "If I had known, I never would have come," he assured firmly. Snow could see he didn't want to disturb her quietude or invade her privacy. She knew the last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable or lead her into any compromising situation.

"I don't mind," Snow told him truthfully. She never minded being with him.

"I should go," he said hoarsely, still looking anywhere but her, "I can wash later."

"You don't have to," she blurted and hastened to add, "I mean, there is plenty of room…you can wash here too and anyway, I'm already finished – I, I don't really mind." She hoped fervently that the darkness hid her blush.

Eric stood rooted to the spot, his throat working, but no sound came out. His harsh breathing seemed to echo in the silent cave. Finally, his eyes found hers, giving him away. They were dark with desire and other feelings Snow was more hesitant to name. "You should not tease me." He sounded as if he was in pain.

"I'm not teasing." The words came out as a whisper, a secret shared without ceremony or shame.

For a moment, he was clearly undecided, his hard resolve to leave her be, to misguidedly be more "noble", warring with his blatant desire to stay. As Eric closed his eyes, Snow held her breath, waiting in suspense. Strangely, it felt like a turning point, a fork in the road, when one direction was chosen and the other left behind. When the huntsman opened his eyes again, the deep blue of them were fathomless and certain. "I'll stay – if you are sure there is enough room for me."

A tremulous smile rose to her lips. "There is. It's quite big enough for two." The pool could comfortably hold half a dozen, but they both knew they were not discussing its actual size, but something else entirely. Snow felt surprisingly brazen, but still not shameless enough to watch him undress. As Eric's hands went to unfasten his belt, Snow turned around, watching the rocky wall but not really seeing anything. All her concentration was on the noises coming behind her; the clang of steel against the rock, the rustle of cloth, the thump of boots hitting the stone floor, and finally, the sound of a body meeting the water, waves lapping over the edges to the floor.

Heart hammering, Snow turned around. Eric was standing in the water, a couple of yards away. As he was considerably taller than her, the water only came up to his lower-chest, a little over his stomach. His upper body was bare, the firelight revealing and concealing its broad form, the muscular lines, in equal measure. As before, the faint scars scattered against his naked skin attracted her interest. She wanted to map them all.

With one smooth movement, Eric plunged beneath the water, breaking her gaze on him. Snow breathed deeply, willing herself to relax in the intense atmosphere. She wasn't very successful; the stormy current was back under her skin, making havoc of her feelings.

For a moment everything was so quiet and still that Snow thought she had imagined him after all. But then the dark surface of the pool broke as Eric lifted his head above the water. Snow's eyes were irresistibly drawn to his wet face and hair that was plastered to his forehead and neck. She tried to act nonchalant, letting the water carry her slowly around in a small circle.

Eric swam to the opposite side of the pool with a few fast strokes, and touched the smooth stonewall that rose from beneath the water to the darkness above them. The sleek stone was bluish-black, glistening and soaking the light up greedily. The shadows moved across the rock, like the ever-moving wings of ravens. Eric's fingers traced the outline of one shadow; as it vanished from sight he let his hand drop slowly back under the water.

"I have watched them for a good while," Snow heard herself confess, "The shapes they make – sometimes I think I can see people in them."

Eric's mouth drew into a tight line. "This place…"

"Don't you like it here?" Snow asked, although she suspected she knew the answer already.

"Well, I've certainly been in worse places," he snorted with a hint of self-mockery, and then continued more somberly, "But this place…it's peculiar. It makes my skin prickle."

"And there's no sky here." She missed the stars.

"No, and no space, everything is cramped and dark…I'm not very good at standing still. I think I'm going a little crazy." Eric smiled slightly. "But I like the company – some of it at least."

"Do you want to leave?" Snow forced herself to ask, heart clenching painfully. This time, she couldn't imagine not going with him, wherever he would go.

Eric didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the flickering shadows, face pensive. Snow followed his gaze, watching as two shades swung towards each other, merging for a brief moment into a shape of a woman until dissolving again. "I think this is a good hiding place – for now. But the inactivity can't last for long, people are getting restless and frustrated." Eric's ruminative voice startled her, and Snow tore her eyes away from the stone. Perhaps she had been watching the shadows too long.

"Something is going to break, soon." He sounded absolutely certain, and Snow shivered with apprehension. At the same time she felt a small sense of relief, for she knew he had thought about their situation exhaustively and had made different plans for all the things that could go wrong. She wondered how far ahead he had planned; what kind of future did he want for himself and did he see her as a part of it?

"As long as we are together, I don't care." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. They were true in a desperate, visceral way, but hardly something to be proud of.

"Snow…" His eyes were riveted on her, and the play of conflicting emotions on his face took her breath away. Like a tide pulled by the moon, she couldn't remain unaffected, couldn't help being drawn to him. Snow steered herself towards him, slowly treading the water. His eyes never left hers.

Her heart hammered so loudly, so madly, and with every movement she was closer to him, until she was standing just inches away from him. Eric was breathing raggedly, but otherwise he was completely still, like under a spell. But when she raised her hand to carefully touch him, he halted her movement by a sharp, "Don't." He swallowed and continued, oddly hesitant, "I said you shouldn't tease me."

"And as I said, I'm not." She answered firmly. Snow didn't know where the boldness came, but she lifted her hand again and slowly touched his cheek. Small bright sparks burned in his eyes.

"I dreamt we were together, just like this. I fear I might be dreaming still." His voice was a mere whisper, the confession dragged out of him almost reluctantly.

"You are not dreaming," she murmured, her hand following the strong line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, chasing the skin under the water.

"How do you know?" The question was despairing; he was still motionless.

"Because I have never been this happy in a dream," Snow told him. As she sought his mouth with her own, she thought of the future she wanted and how she would do anything to get it. And then he finally erupted into motion and movement and she couldn't think anything at all.

-o-

It was so cold. Snow struck the timeworn flint with shivering fingers, willing it to start a fire. She had tried to save the pieces of tinder for later, knowing it was unlikely she would get more any time soon, but she was numb with cold, the icy wind blowing into her little cell without mercy.

Finally, just as it was becoming difficult to see in the approaching dark, the wood burst into a small flame. Snow quickly coaxed the flames until the fire was burning brightly and blessed warmth seeped into her small frame, thawing her. She settled in front of the fire, as near the fireplace as possible, enjoying the dancing flames.

Shadows followed every movement the flames made, flickering, twisting and turning. Snow had once watched as a servant boy had made shadow animals with his hands; fox, bear, wolf and raven. She had wanted to learn how to do them too, but the boy had been too shy to teach and she had quickly lost interest. She had only remembered the animals again here, watching as the shadows seized the stone walls and hard floor. Snow knew how to make them now; she had had many nights to practice the art to perfection. She had even invented her own animals and signs, making stories against firelight.

But sometimes she just wanted to watch. Sometimes the flames and shadows made stories of their own.

A small sob echoed in the otherwise silent prison. They had brought a woman to one of the many empty cells that afternoon. Snow had seen many come and go; none ever stayed for long. After a slight moment of hesitation, Snow rose up and went to the bars. The corridor was dark and she could scarcely see the cell door opposite her own. The sobbing had stopped and all were quiet again.

"Are you all right?" Snow asked, and then winced; what a stupid question.

There was a shifting sound, a scrape, and then slender hands twisted around the bars of the small look-out window in the door.

"Did they bring you here too?" The woman's voice trembled slightly.

"I have always been here," Snow murmured, the words too low for the woman to hear.

"What do they want from me?" The woman asked, her voice strengthening into anger, "I haven't done anything wrong."

Snow swallowed and tried to speak. It felt like she had had this same conversation too many times to count and her answer never changed. "I don't know," she finally whispered.

"How long have you been here?" The woman's hands were still grasping the bars tightly, and behind them, Snow could see a curtain of hair, the shape of a nose, and two bright eyes. It was too dark to tell their color or anything else about the woman.

"I don't know," Snow repeated, starting to be a little sorry for initiating the conversation. She couldn't offer any answers, any consolation, couldn't speak like proper people did. She gazed back to her fire; it would dwindle soon.

"Don't worry," the woman said, "he will come for me, and we'll take you with us."

Snow turned back to the woman; this was new. No one had ever talked about someone getting them out, no one had ever promised to take Snow with them.

"Who will come?" She asked, heart hammering.

"My husband. Eric will find me and get me out." The woman sounded so certain, so convinced that her husband was going to rescue her that a small hope started to cautiously gain ground in Snow. Maybe it would be possible. Maybe he would really come and take her away too.

It was difficult to sleep that night. Only embers glowed in the fireplace until they too died and shadows merged into darkness. The cold crept back, twined around her. It was not the cold or the dark that kept her awake though, for she had long ago grown used to them; it was the hope. All night Snow thought of the man who was going to get them out of the prison, take her far away from the queen and her brother.

But in the morning light all her hopes were dashed to pieces. The only one that came was the queen's brother, who sauntered into the prison with soldiers, and dragged the woman away. As the woman screamed for her husband, Snow huddled in the corner, eyes closed.

No one would come for her now.


	16. Chapter 16: Discord

Chapter 16: Discord

Snow woke shivering, bitterly cold. For a moment it was difficult to breathe, to think. The reality, the dream, the memory – they all mixed together, entangled, tugged painfully at her insides. Snow struggled to draw breath, a small sob escaping despite her will.

Fighting for control, Snow continued to gasp harshly, trying to shove her churning thoughts away, somewhere deep, where she wouldn't have to think of them, where she wouldn't have to see that dream, that memory again – _oh god, Eric_ – wouldn't have to tell him. She tried to smother another sob, glad that the sleeping chamber was empty, the morning rituals already begun. If only the others had woken her before she had dreamed. If only –

Snow stayed on her sleeping pallet, curled in on herself, remembering everything. It seemed impossible that only last night she had been so happy, had felt so much joy and want and the most explosive, intense pleasure she had ever known. She had come back from the pool glowing with the secret enjoyment, the sweet ache that shook her legs and tingled her spine. The ache that was so deep in her, longing again to be soothed, to be filled, until she would be everything and nothing, a brilliant, shooting star.

She had gone to sleep giddy with the memory of their shared pleasure, happy to her very core. She hadn't been afraid of dreaming; had looked forward to it even. So certain that the knowledge in her dreams would help her win, would help her get the future she wanted, would at the very least be a sweet remembrance of her and Eric bathing together. Now the knowledge was a bitter, cold twist of blade in her, drawing her guilt to the surface, bloody and raw.

How could she have forgotten?

For the vivid and clear dream, so unlike the others, was a memory. Snow had met Eric's wife; she had been a prisoner too, and only a wooden door and the bars had separated them. Eric's wife – _Sara_, her mind whispered – had believed he would come for her; she had promised they would take Snow with them. Finn had dragged her away, and she had screamed Eric's name.

The memory settled heavily on her, refused to budge. It was knowledge Snow hadn't sought, hadn't wanted, but it could be never unknown to her again. She closed her eyes tightly, tears burning against her eyelids. Disgusted with her own selfishness, Snow bit her lip, tasting blood. Eric would want to know; he would need to know. Snow only had to remember his agonized words in the ramshackle cabin, how he had sounded so wounded, never knowing why his wife had been taken, what had happened to her. Maybe she could offer him some peace of mind, maybe that had been the dream's purpose. But still, she feared the memory would only hurt him more.

Reluctant to meet the others, to meet Eric, she lingered in the sleeping chamber, tidying it up, folding the blankets and then unfolding them, only to fold them again. But Snow knew she couldn't hide there forever, and that the moment she met Eric, he would see everything on her face. Not that she wanted to keep the memory from him, it would be impossible. He had a right to know, and she couldn't ever lie to him, not even by omission. The mere thought was enough to make acid bile rose up in her throat.

But how to tell him? Would he believe that she had simply forgotten, the nameless girls and women so many, and the darkness of her prison so oppressive?

With a heavy, anxious heart, Snow trudged to the main chamber. There were other people in the cave, but Snow had eyes only for Eric. He was standing, and the sight of his strong, confident body was so familiar, so dear, it drew a small sigh of longing and wonder from her. As if he had heard her, Eric turned towards Snow, his eyes growing bright in the dimness of the cave.

"Ah, you finally deemed it fit to rise. I thought at least the smells of breakfast would have dragged you from your sleep, but alas, it was not to be – you have missed the meal. I'm afraid it's cold porridge or nothing." Eric sounded mournful, but the glint in his eyes and the upward tug of his mouth betrayed his teasing.

Snow tried to smile, but knew she had failed spectacularly, when Eric's expression turned serious. "Are you alright?" His eyes were worried, clouded over. "What is it?"

"I –" The sound was no more than a croak, and Snow swallowed, tried again. "I saw…I didn't sleep very well." She was aware that everyone was looking at them curiously. She forced the other people from her mind, focused only on Eric, who grew more apprehensive as she just stood there, every emotion she felt visible in her eyes.

"Bad dreams?" He asked hesitantly, if not sure it would be wise to bring up the topic among the others.

Snow could only nod, the familiar burn of tears back in her eyes. Finally, she forced the words out, not caring how they sounded to the onlookers. "I need to speak to you, I need to…I have to tell you something. But not here, please."

"Of course," Eric said calmly, and only the way he took hold tightly of Snow's arm to lead her away from the cave spoke of his alarm.

Snow was glad of his warm hand on her, steadying her as she stumbled along the main tunnel, not caring where they were heading. In her mind, she saw the brightly burning eyes of the woman – Sara – watching her accusingly, urging her to tell him. _He was supposed to save me_, the woman said, _not you. _

Suddenly they halted and Snow realized they were in the familiar storage, where they had kissed for the first time. One fierce glare from Eric, and Jack and Kurt stopped whatever they were doing and hastily got out of the small cave. Eric's hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Hey," he said quietly, "what's the matter?" One of his hands came to cradle her cheek tenderly. Snow stared at his leather clad chest; it felt impossible to meet his eyes. "Are you –" Eric breathed sharply. "Are you regretting last night?"

Snow shook her head. "No. No, I'm not."

"Then what is it dearheart? You are worrying me." Eric's thumb caressed her face, coaxed her to raise her head to look at him. The worry and alarm in his eyes twisted her heart.

"I had a dream," Snow blurted before all courage left her, "but it wasn't a dream, not really, it was a memory. Only I didn't know it before, I didn't remember. You have to believe that I didn't remember." She took hold of his shirt with frantic fingers, desperate to not loose contact.

Eric looked at her steadily, and although he didn't say anything, his whole countenance was urging Snow to continue, telling her that he was listening to her every word. Snow took a deep breath and plunged. "Your wife, they brought her to a cell opposite from mine. I talked to her. She…she was only there for the night. In the morning the queen's brother took her away."

Snow could feel the small trembles that shook his body. Eric's face was devoid of color, white as a freshly fallen snow and there was a terrible emptiness in his eyes. He wrenched himself suddenly backwards, breaking her hold on him.

"Did you know it? All this time?" His voice was hoarse from pain.

"No! I swear, I didn't remember! I'm so sorry –" Agitated, her heart hurting for him, Snow stepped forward blindly, reaching for him. But he evaded her, stepping angrily around her.

"You know how I searched for her, how I never knew why –" He smashed his fist violently against one of the large barrels, the wood creaking under the force of the hit. "And all this time I wondered…and she was there with _you._ And the bastard took her, and the queen drained her dry, sucked her life and her laughter and everything from her…that bitch who promised to bring her back and she was the one to take her from me!" The shout thundered in the cave and Snow couldn't help but flinch. Eric panted like he had run miles without rest or water, the angry red flesh of his fist a silent continuation of his shout.

"I know, I know," Snow whispered, aching to go to him, to take him into her arms and draw all the hurt away from him. But the rigidness of his body, the angry lines of his mouth, were a sign that told her to stay away, told her not to reach out. It hurt terribly, but Snow understood he couldn't suffer her touch right then.

"What did you talk?" Eric's voice was quieter and all the more frightening for it. He drew a deep breath, gathering a steely, unnatural calm around him. "What did she say?"

"I…we only talked a little, she…" Snow closed her eyes, hoping fervently that Eric would not press her for more, knowing all the while her hope was futile.

"Tell me." The command was sharp and clear. And although Snow wanted to spare him from the painful knowledge, she couldn't deny him, couldn't lie.

"She told me that her husband – that you would come for her…and that you would take both of us away from there." The words felt huge in the small dim space, swallowing everything.

"So not only did I fail her, I failed you too."

The deny was ready on her lips, but before she could utter the words Kurt sprinted into the cave, exclaiming breathlessly, "They're here; you are needed in the central cave! The scouts are finally here!"

-o-

It seemed everyone staying in the mines was clustered in the central cave, standing at the sides and sitting on the floor. The large space felt smaller as it was teeming with exited and anxious people, the smell of sweat and earth poignant. It was unnaturally quiet; people were waiting. Snow squeezed herself to sit between Beth and Elsa, thoughts far away, Eric's words still echoing inside her. She felt an urgent need to continue their conversation, to make things right between them, to offer him all the solace she could give.

Snow craned her neck and could just see him standing against a wall, numerous people between them. Eric looked stony, unapproachable. The sight of him made her heart ache; not in an exhilarating, thrilling way as so many times before, but with misery and trepidation.

"I think we're all here," William said, voice and stance impatient. He was standing almost in the middle of the cave, with his arms crossed. "Now I want to know everything."

The two scouts, Sam and Tobias, were standing as well, looking weary and worn-out. They exchanged a quick glance between them, debating something silently. Just as William's expression turned irritated, Sam started to speak, his voice gruff, "We followed three different supply trains; saw where they were heading, what they were carrying, how many men they had guarding it."

"They have changed the schedule, there's less order to it now. They are trying to avoid being predictable. The number of guards is slightly less than before though," Tobias said, his quiet voice somehow soothing, although the topic raised everyone's pulse. "They have hired, or more likely forced, villagers to drive the carts."

"They must think we are not much of a threat anymore," William snorted, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"More likely they are trying to draw us out." Thomas sounded calm and he was leaning on the wall almost casually; only his steely eyes betrayed his seriousness, his complete focus.

"What does it matter? With enough preparation and scouting, we can take them by surprise as we did before," William argued, "Too long have we sat here doing nothing, hiding like _cowards_."

The audience's silence was broken; people were leaning into one another murmuring, some were shaking or nodding their heads, a few let out cries of support. Snow's eyes were drawn first to Eric, who looked impassive, and then to Thomas, whose calm countenance had been broken, a flush of red on his cheeks.

"And the queen will fall if we destroy a couple of her supply trains? Hell, I doubt it will even sting her," Thomas said, derisive. The crowd started to murmur again, but no one actually raised their voice to be heard. William drew in a sharp breath, ready to retort, when Sam coughed loudly. All eyes turned to him.

"There's more." Sam's voice was apprehensive. Tobias turned his eyes to the floor, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Snow felt like falling from a great height, although the stone was still hard and cold underneath her. She was suddenly very sure that something terrible had happened. It seemed all the other people felt the same as they grew silent; it was deadly quiet in the cave.

"The queen…she ordered Duke Hammond's body to be dug up. That brother of hers is taking the body from village to village – showing people what the price of resistance is."

William gave a hoarse, wordless cry. His hands went to his sword, and he gripped the hilt tightly without drawing the weapon, his enemies bitterly out of his reach. Other people were shocked and angry too; Snow could hear couple of the men swearing loudly and beside her Elsa had burst into tears. Thomas, looking pale and stunned, stepped forward to William, laying his hand on the arm that was still squeezing the hilt of the sword compulsively.

"Where are they now?" William's voice shook with the force of his rage and pain.

"Last they were in Riverside. They are moving this way; they should soon be in Oakhollow," Sam said and looked at William expectantly.

"William –" Thomas started to say urgently, but William interrupted him, shaking Thomas' arm off. "Don't Thomas – we'll ambush them." William sounded resolute and Snow could immediately tell there would be no way to change his mind. "We'll ride to meet them, avenge my father and all the others, and kill that bastard Finn! I bet that will be more than a sting to the queen."

"Yes!" Joseph yelled, and his shout was echoed by many more.

"William! I know how…" Thomas struggled for words, frustrated. "It is terrible, and not what your father deserved, but clearly this is a trap. The queen wants to draw you out and what better way to do it?" Thomas tried to take hold of William's arm again, but the younger man stepped stubbornly aside. "Don't play into her hand; don't give her what she wants." Thomas was almost pleading, imploring William to see sense.

Snow's heart was hammering, her hands shaking. She prayed that William would listen to Thomas. Her mind rushing through all the things she could say, Snow debated whether she should make her opinion known. But she had a depressing feeling that William could not be persuaded, not by her. After their last painful talk they hadn't really made any effort to mend the breach, and they were awkward and unsure in each other's company. William would not listen to her; not when she was the reason he hadn't been there to help his father.

"I don't care if it's a trap!" William shouted, his face distorted with anger. "They'll get more than they bargained for, that I'll swear!"

"How are you going to ambush them, when they know you are coming? They'll have numerous men on the look-out, just waiting to spring the trap. They'll haul you to the queen, or kill you on-the-spot!" Thomas' pleading tone changed; it grew angrier with every word.

"I'll not hide here like a coward, when my father's body is desecrated!"

"Getting killed is a poor way to honor your father!"

The two men were facing each other, their strong wills and angry words clashing. The people around them watched with bated breath, wondering who would be forced to yield.

"What if it was your daughter's body displayed like that? Would you still just do nothing?" William exclaimed, furious. Snow heard how Beth gasped at the affront; no one dared to mention Thomas' daughter, who had been killed in the first year of Ravenna's reign.

Thomas' eyes narrowed and he spit out, "You are just a stupid boy, who will get everyone killed! Only a fool would follow you."

"You can't stop me. I'll go alone if I must." William's voice steadied. He was sure of his victory. "Who will come with me?" He looked around the cave, meeting the eyes of the resistance.

Silence reigned, until Eric said, "I will come."


	17. Chapter 17: Separation

I'm so sorry for making you wait for so long for this chapter! The school work was so stressful I couldn't manage to write anything non-school related. Hopefully that is over now. Only about four chapters to go and then this story is finished! A warm thank you to all of you who continue to read this story - your encouragement means a lot to me.

* * *

Chapter 17: Separation

Eric's declaration of support to William broke the dam; numerous voices joined in, offering their swords, acclaiming they would claim their lord's body back and revenge his death or die trying. Thomas stood on the sidelines, a stony expression on his face, and few of the men and women were also sitting or standing quietly, clearly siding with him. They looked apprehensive, displeased and ashamed of their own reluctance in turn. Snow could only watch the proceedings with a heavy heart, her hopes and plans tilting dangerously from their axis. Her eyes fastened on Eric as she tried to meet his gaze, but he was looking steadfastly ahead, immovable and rigid. However, Snow knew his apparent lack of feeling was anything but, knew he would never willingly reveal how deep he hurt.

"Thank you," William said, his voice breaking through the cries of support. "I knew I could count on you – I will never forget this." He was flushed from emotion and sounded scraped raw.

"So, we are going to divide our only remaining force." Thomas' words were not a question, but a flat statement. All eyes turned to him, but Thomas was only looking at William, eyes inscrutable. As the younger man met his gaze squarely, the atmosphere strained even further. Then suddenly it snapped, when Thomas at last sighed, "Let's make the best of it then and plan this thing properly."

William gave a small relieved smile, glad to have even Thomas' halfhearted support. "Yes, we'll plan, but we can't waste much time. We must leave before midday." Thomas sighed again, but didn't offer any more protests. William continued assertively, "I need everyone to help those who are going with the preparations and supplies. Sam and Tobias – and Eric, you can help plan the assault."

The cave erupted into movement and noise. Snow followed distractedly as the meeting suddenly ended and people scrambled to follow the orders. Momentarily stunned, she tried to collect her thoughts, decide what to do next. But it soon became apparent to her that there was only one course of action to take: she had to talk to Eric.

She went towards the huntsman, but was too slow; he was already following William, Thomas and the scouts to the sleeping chamber, away from everybody else. Snow moved to follow, but was hindered, when Beth gripped her forearm. "Come help me with the provisions."

Snow looked at the empty tunnel leading to the small chamber, wavering. Her need to talk to Eric –to tell him not to go, not to be so stupidly foolish and pigheaded, not to endanger his life, but to stay with her or go with her far away – was urgent and overwhelming.

"Come," Beth said gently, "let them plan. There really isn't much time to waste and we want them to be as well prepared as they can be." Reluctantly Snow let Beth draw her towards the storage caves, recognizing the sense in her words. She followed Beth's instructions mechanically, wrapping salted meat into small parcels, all the while waiting anxiously for any sign that the planning session had ended.

Time rushed by in a flurry of hasty tasks, people fluttering excitedly and nervously about, solemn and serious. The preparations were almost finished and the leaving men were starting to gather around the stables, leading the horses out. Snow darted between them, not seeing Eric anywhere. Her heart was hammering wildly, erratically; like a panic-stricken animal looking madly for shelter. She had to talk to him, had to make everything right between them again.

Snow rushed inside the main tunnel and immediately ran into William, who was striding determinedly outside. Thomas and Eric were following fast on his heels. They all stopped as they faced Snow, who stood before them panting, hurriedly exclaiming, "Eric! I have to talk to you!"

William pursed his lips and went around her; Thomas gave her a sympathetic glance and followed him. Eric stayed rooted to the spot, eyes dark with shadows. Snow waited until the others had exited the tunnel, fingers nervously fiddling with the sleeve of her bodice. When they were alone, the only voices the muted shouts of men coming from outside, Snow swallowed and tried to begin.

"Don't go." Unthinking, it spilled from her lips in a rush. "It's madness, a certain trap."

Eric's mouth twisted into humorless smile. "It's a trap alright. But I have to go."

"You don't have to do anything!" Desperate, Snow tried to find the right words, knowing all along that she was fighting a losing battle. "Remember what you said to me, when you asked me to go with you? You said that sometimes the only way to fight back is not to fight back at all, but to survive. Well, you were right."

Eric shook his head, shifting restlessly. "And yet you stayed," he reminded her. "You stayed to fight the queen. You cannot reproach me now for doing the same."

"It's not the same!" Snow burst out, frustrated. "You are willfully going into a trap. Nothing will be gained if you are – if you are senselessly killed."

"And I should just let them be?" His voice was hoarse, his mouth a thin line. "I cannot be here, doing nothing – to let her killers go unpunished – I cannot abide that."

"I know," Snow said, wanting so badly to reach out, to offer any comfort she could, but his unapproachable stance, his closed-off look, made it impossible to lift her hands. "But…there will be other, better chances."

"This is a good chance." Eric looked resolute. "Believe it or not, we actually have a fairly good plan. Maybe they know we are coming, but they don't know anything else. They will not catch us unawares."

Defeated, Snow knew she couldn't persuade him to stay. Eric's mind had been made up the moment he had learnt of what really had happened to his wife. There was only one thing left to do. "Then I am coming with you," Snow declared, mentally calculating how fast she could pack up her meager possessions.

"No, you are not!" Eric was quick to object. "You are staying here with Thomas. He'll keep you safe."

"I cannot stay here if you are going!" The looming threat of separation made her heart contract painfully. Snow realized she had never considered the option that he would go without her. Why hadn't she? He was only tied to her with heady kisses and warm embraces; they had never really talked of what it all meant, of any future together.

"You must, you are too important. Someday, you'll be the queen and change everything." Eric looked at her imploringly, his words firm. "You have to understand. I failed her. I cannot fail her in this too. I will kill Finn. And you cannot be there when I do."

Snow felt leaden, slowly sinking to the bottom of the deep sea like a heavy stone. The shadows rushed closer. "Will you come back?" She forced herself to ask.

Eric's determined gaze shuttered close for a moment, and when he opened his eyes again Snow thought she could see hesitation in them, flickering briefly. Then, with deadly calm, he said, "It's no use. I'm no good for you."

"Then why did you –" _Why did you took my heart_? "Why did you kiss me and…made me believe we could be together?" It hurt to speak, but Snow forced the words out.

"Because I wanted to believe it – because I…I knew it would always come to this, but for a moment I forgot…I just wanted – I'm sorry." His eyes shifted away from her, over to the mouth of the tunnel. "I have to go now." Eric moved to pass her by, and although the tunnel could hold two men abreast, Snow hoped he would brush against her as he went. He did not.

Eric's long strides echoed inside the cold stone grave. Snow stood there helplessly, while a strange numbness took her over. She stood there, until the sound of his footsteps disappeared, until the voices and neighs of horses faded into silence. She did not watch him ride away.

-o-

The paralyzing numbness did not fade with the coming hours and days that stretched endlessly ahead, lonely and miserable. Snow did her chores scrupulously, but with little feeling. The concerned gazes and kind words of those of the resistance that still remained in the hideout didn't reach her. She was wrapped around in a heavy mist of her own making; every sound was muted, all the colors bled white, the angles blurry. Before long the people stopped talking of the men that had left and their mission, falling silent when Snow came into the room. She was glad. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about anything.

Her dreams did not hear her plea; she had to relive everything that had happened, every word between her and Eric, every night. The hurt his words and closed-off face caused was such a visceral, physical thing that Snow woke each morning desperately sick, her hands and forearms scratched bloody by her own fingers. The past was crystal clear and sharp like a lethal blade. She could see his dark eyes, and no matter how many times she dreamed, she couldn't see anything but anger, hurt and regret in them.

The future instead was more veiled than ever. Fast images blurred together, sounds mixed and blended in, until they couldn't be separated, until all of it was just a confusing tangle of half-formed thoughts and feelings. The ravens were searching until they weren't anymore; their beady eyes gleamed with hunger for the coming battle. A lean wolf cried in the night, alone and bleeding. Blood dripped from the blade; her hands were sticky and red. The terrible quietness, the false emptiness of charred ruins, burnt black. Merging into the darkness, coming from the shadows, the queen –

Instinctively, Snow shied away, not wanting to see, trying to turn away, to hide or run, covering her eyes. She didn't want to know anymore.

It all changed again, four days after Eric had left, when Thomas took Snow aside and asked her with gentle solemnity, if he could do anything for her. Snow shook her head, not wanting to talk. Thomas' eyes were too understanding, too knowing. She bit into her lip, drawing blood.

"Whether they succeed or not, we cannot aid them now. All we can do is focus on the here and now, and the next day will follow." His words were quiet, but they filled the space, huge and true.

"I'm here," Snow murmured, uncertain.

"Are you really?" Thomas said, looking at her contemplatively. "To me it seems you are in the space between, waiting for something bad to happen, or maybe already in that reality where all is lost." Snow turned her eyes away, unable to meet his gaze. Her hands shook. "But Snow –" Thomas' solid hand came to rest on her shoulder, grounding and comforting. "We are not there yet, we do not know anything. Don't mourn beforehand, it may prove to be for nothing. If not…well, you have more than enough time for it later."

"You mean all the rest of my life," she couldn't help but snipe.

Thomas did not try to refute her. "If it comes to that…" His eyes looked somewhere far away, to a hidden place, abandoned long ago but never forgotten. "Sometimes the hardest thing is to learn that you can live again, even after they have gone – those you love." The long, aching years were suddenly on display in his every furrow and scar.

"How?" Snow asked, swallowing tears.

"First you continue to breathe, then you continue to do things. You just continue onwards, and then a day will come, maybe not quick or easy, but it will come, when you notice there are some things in you other than pain and anger and longing."

"I don't think I can do it," Snow confessed, inexplicably ashamed. It felt like all the strength had been leeched from her bones.

Thomas smiled suddenly and said, "You have done it before." Snow remembered her mother and father, all her friends and teachers in the castle, slain and gone. Alone with the dead, she had nearly drowned, her breath coming shallower each year spent in the dank cell of her grief and loneliness. Until she had escaped. Until Eric had found her. Could she go back to that dark place? "You are strong and brave enough," Thomas was continuing sincerely, "to do it again."

"Maybe I can," Snow mused, something clenching inside her, trying to annul her words. "But I don't want to – I'm not going to." A fierce determination rose in her, a will to fight, to take her fate into her own hands. She shook the last of the hazy numbness from her, looked at herself long and hard, disgusted. Thomas was right; she had been mourning the loss of Eric, like he was dead already or gone forever from her sight. But there would be no such cause for grief – she would not let it.

"So what are you going to do?" Thomas asked, not sounding the least bit surprised.

Snow felt the corners of her mouth turn into a grim smile. "I'm going to talk to a witch."


	18. Chapter 18: Sight

Chapter 18: Sight

Snow didn't waste any time. She burst into Moira's little cave, ready to confront the old woman. Now that she had decided to act, she felt a pressing urgency, time was slipping away and ahead of her something dark loomed ever closer.

Moira was sitting on the floor, on top of some filthy rags. The space around her was as cluttered as the last time Snow had seen it, and there was little order to the various pots, bottles, pieces of parchment, strings and buttons and scraps of cloth. Only the white bones and the bundles of herbs and plants lay neatly in one corner. Moira looked up at Snow and didn't seem at all surprised to see her.

"I need –" Snow faltered, thinking how best to ask what she wanted. Moira stared at her with piercing eyes, but didn't say anything. "My dreams…they are too…too hazy. They will not tell me what I need to know. I have to be able to see what is happening, how I can – I need to _see_."

"And how do you think I can help you?" Moira snorted, the pressure of her stare unrelenting. "You do see, but you don't understand."

"No, I don't understand!" Snow was frustrated, at the end of her tether. Every heartbeat was a reminder of time running out. "The same distorted images, the same memories I have seen over and over, they don't lead me anywhere. I try, but I don't get any closer to an answer, and the time – I don't have any time left."

"What help can I be? I cannot change what you see, I cannot see your dreams or interpret them for you," Moira said a little mockingly, although her expression was serious, her thin, chapped lips a severe line of disapproval.

"But you can help me see them more clearly," Snow asserted, although in truth she was less sure about her statement. Boldly, she continued, "Beth told me that you make potions…and spells. Surely you know how to help me." Moira turned her eyes to the dried herbs and small white bones and Snow knew she wasn't so off the mark.

When the old woman looked up at her slyly, a shivery apprehension ran over Snow's body. She squashed it ruthlessly; she couldn't afford to second-guess herself now. This was her only chance to do something besides stupidly running out into the wild with no plan or proper direction. Now more than ever, Snow felt the timeless truth: knowledge was power. Without knowledge people were directionless, weak, forever stumbling in the dark, always at the mercy of others. She would not be kept in the dark anymore.

"Beth told you?" Moira gave a short, sharp laugh, more like a bark. "Of course she did. I can guess what she said about it. Warned you did she? Said I was a crazy witch, making dark potions, spelling sickness and death?"

Snow swallowed, her throat painfully dry. She didn't turn her gaze from Moira. "Are you?"

The question left a tense, surprised silence in its wake. Snow didn't know which of them was more surprised by her frankness. Then Moira suddenly cackled, doubling over. "Am I? Ain't that the question!" When her laughter faded, it still seemed to twinkle in her dark eyes. "So you have some backbone, girl. Good, women are useless without it."

"You didn't answer my question," Snow reminded her flatly.

"Does my answer matter to you? Will it change your request?"

"No." Snow did not hesitate, didn't let herself feel doubt or remorse. Any price was worth paying for helping Eric, keeping him safe, ending the darkness – killing Ravenna at last.

"I thought not," Moira said, eyes still gleaming with mirth. Snow had the uncomfortable feeling that the old woman could read her like a book, look at the very core of her. "But then – it is always prudent to know what one gets into. Only stupid people go blindly onwards even though they could see just as well. Despite what some _ignorant_ people may say, magic is not dark or light – it just is. Like the nature or universe itself. The people, their will and purpose make it dark or light or anything in between."

Snow pondered the idea in her mind. It was not dark magic that had ravaged the land, but magic that Ravenna had twisted and poisoned to serve her terrible power. It was a sudden relief; the world had not conspired to bring about the darkness, but the darkness was forced upon it. Still, Snow couldn't help asking, "And what do you make it?"

"What need be." Moira's voice was grim. "I help people, but sometimes the only way to help is to hurt."

"I need your help," Snow said, all her hopes and prayers in those four small words.

"Even if it hurts? Even if the answers are not those you wanted or sought?"

Snow swallowed the taste of her unshed tears, trying to banish the nightmarish imaginings from her mind. Eric would be fine. He was a great fighter, and more importantly, he was mulishly stubborn, not willing to give up. Eric was alive. He had to be. "Yes," she answered, knowing she sounded desperate and afraid, "I have to see what is happening, where he is – if, if he is…how I can help. I have to help."

"He left you here. Why do you care what happens to him?" Moira sounded genuinely curious, slanting her head and peering at Snow with her bird-eyes.

"I love him," Snow admitted. She had known it for a while now, but she had never really said it – not out loud, not even inside her own mind. Why was it somehow easier to confess now when Eric was several days' ride away from her? Why had she never told him?

"Love is a strange thing…" The old woman mused. Snow had expected ridicule and mockery for her confession, but none came. Moira's hooded eyes, veiled with secrets, looked into nothingness. "Such a terrible, wonderful thing." Then suddenly those dark eyes looked sharply at Snow again, assessing. "There is no potion or spell to give you answers," Moira said, "but I can make the journey to attain them – not easier, but quicker. I have something that can help lift the veil, make it thinner for you to see through to the other side."

Snow's heart started to hammer with suspense; before, she had hardly dared to hope, but now…With anxious anticipation she watched as Moira rose stiffly from her sitting position and moved to a corner filled with a heap of old, dingy blankets. Moira's stooped back temporarily blocked Snow's sight, and when the old woman turned around, she held a small, plain wooden chest in her hands. She opened it without ceremony and drew a small vial out. The glass was inky blue.

"Drink this at the pool's edge, and you will have the Sight. Now, keep in mind that when the veil gets thinner, others can see through it too if they happen to look in the right direction. You'll see the queen, but she might see you too." Moira's words were a warning, but she didn't hesitate to hand the vial to Snow.

Snow took the small vial with sweaty hands, her fingers gripping it like a lifeline. "Is there something I have to say, when I drink it?"

"Nothing. Just think of what you'll want to see." Moira paused, looking contemplative. She smiled a little wistfully. "It can show you many things, memories long lost, loved ones gone…" The smile turned into wolfish grin. "Best not to get sidetracked, or you will be forever lost. Time goes differently there."

Snow gave a small, nervous smile, more like a grimace. "Well, I have no time for sidetracks anyway…"

Moira grinned. "You'll have all the time in the world."

-o-

Snow went straight to the pool after leaving Moira. The supper had already been eaten, so she hoped to remain undisturbed long into the night. As her every thought was colored with anxious haste, Snow didn't stop to contemplate or hesitate. She sat down at the pool's edge, uncorked the vial and with one smooth motion drank the bitter liquid. The sickening taste of the potion lingered, sticking to her throat, and Snow tried to focus on other things. She stared at the gently rippling water, its dark, impermeable surface.

Snow sat and waited for something to happen. Her nerveless fingers clutched at the empty vial, but it slipped from her hand and rolled on to the stone floor, clinking as it went out of her sight. Her heart hammered madly, like a war drum, more wildly still, her ribcage suddenly too narrow to hold it all in. Snow gasped for breath, vaguely concerned, a little dismayed that her body seemed to betray her at so crucial moment.

But then, just as she felt faint and the darkness rushed to meet her, all seemed to slow. Her breathing evened out, her heart settled down, its beat slower, quieter, slowing, slowing…

The pool rippled and twisted into a great, golden mirror. Snow stood before it and looked, and her own image stared back at her.

"Show me what I want to see," she said.

The mirror kept silent, its surface calm and smooth.

Angry, she turned away and stepped into a winter white garden, the world sleeping and peaceful. Her footprints left small marks in the snow. The air was crisp and cold, pinching her bare cheeks. Despite all the happy days filled with love, a melancholy air had come upon her, for there was one thing she wished above all.

Against the white, amid the gently falling snow, a red rose bloomed still, in defiance of the winter. Enthralled, she reached her hand to touch the petals, but pricked her finger instead, and three drops of blood fell to the ground. The red was so alive against all the white that it touched her heart.

If only I had a child, she thought. _White as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as a raven's wings, with all the strength of that rose. _

As she stood still and wanted so much she ached with longing, the snow melted and water trickled in small rivulets, the grass grew green and thick, and the sun traded places with the gossamer clouds. In the distance, the laughter of children ran like clear silver bells. She smiled, although she knew next winter would see her dead, for she would be leaving something of her behind.

Snow wanted to cry as she turned away, but her father's crumbled face, lined with grief and loss, stayed her tears. Her father's hand was cold in hers, listless. The ice crept over his boots, climbing around his legs like silvery vine, twining around his chest and piercing the heart. He looked as brittle as glass. Then he went to war and came home warm again.

The servants were fitting the sleeves of Ravenna's wedding dress. She looked golden in the soft morning light, beautiful. Snow said so, earnest but wanting to please her father's new bride. She hoped they would become friends.

"That's kind child," Ravenna said, smiling gently. "Especially as it is said yours is the face of true beauty in this kingdom." She offered her hand to Snow. "Come."

Snow went to her and Ravenna kneeled to look at her in the eye. The women were still attending to her, getting her ready for the coming wedding ceremony, smoothing her beauty into impeccable vision. "This must be difficult for you. I too lost my mother, when I was a young girl." Ravenna's words were soft, her eyes clouded. "I can never take your mother's place. Never. But I feel you and I are bound. I feel it there...your heart." Snow smiled. She was certain they would become friends.

The bells rang through the kingdom, echoing from village to village, a joyful message of new love and hope.

The new bride lay down on the bed, the king above her. "You'll be the ruin of me," he said, kissing her slender, white neck.

"Indeed, my lord." She stared at the roof, passionless. "I was ruined by a king like you once." He was not listening, drunken by her beauty. "I replaced his queen…" He continued to lavish her with hungry kisses that could not thaw her frozen heart. "An old woman…and in time I too would have been replaced. Men use women." Her voice grew hard. "They ruin us and when they are finished…"

The king started to realize that something was wrong, he couldn't breathe, and the cold was turning his blood to ice. "They toss us to their dogs like scraps…" Her whisper was silken, filled with menace.

"What have you given me?" He asked, alarmed.

"When a woman stays young and beautiful forever, the world is hers," she said and suddenly rolled them over. Now he was lying helplessly beneath her and she was astride over him. "First, I will take your life, my lord…" She drew a long knife, and unsheathing the blade raised it above her head. "And then I'll take your throne." She plunged the knife into his heart with a violent, satisfied thrust.

The cup fell, red wine spilling to the floor. The king was dead, his eyes unseeing. The queen rose to greet her kingdom.

"Enough," Snow said, hurt.

The mirror stood before her, golden and terrible. _Eric_, she though.

"I dreamt we were together, just like this. I fear I might be dreaming still," he whispered, the emotion in his eyes so very open and raw.

The water felt curiously warm, as if their two naked bodies radiated heat enough to warm up the whole pool. She touched his heated skin, following the strong lines, the rigor of bones, never getting enough, finally dipping her fingers under the surface to the flesh concealed there.

"You are not dreaming," she said, certain. She had never been this happy in a dream.

She sought his mouth with her own, the future burning so brightly behind her eyes that for a moment she was blind. The water rose around them as he drew her to him, and the pleasure of bare skin against bare skin was such she gasped with surprised joy. She twined her limbs around him, holding tightly.

I have no time, she though suddenly, despondent. His kisses were full and demanding and made coherent thoughts impossible. Why would she need to be anywhere else? His caressing, maddening hands stroked her back soothingly, pressed gently against her hips, going slowly lower and lower.

She could feel him against her hipbone, impossibly hard and slick. All her desperate need rushed to meet him, throbbing and aching, wanting him to the point of madness, beyond conscious thought, yearning to be filled and claimed. The feel of him against her was such sweet agony she sobbed, quivering under the onslaught of her own desire, fuelled by his exploring mouth, his conquering hands.

Snow was burning up, sweat mixing with the hot water. The mirror vibrated with heat and the gold melted and dripped to the stone floor like blood. The flames danced on the surface of the dark water, the boats gliding through fire somber and sure, like death was steering them onwards to the other side.

Black shapes charged through the burning village, hunting and seeking and killing. Snow had to get away, but there were no boats left and she was alone. Amid the fearful screams and mad scramble to escape, a woman with a scarred face stood calmly on the bank, illuminated by hungry flames. She stared right at Snow and said, "Your sacrifice will come."

Then Eric was there, dragging her away, through reeds and trees until the night was nothing but darkness and silence again. Furious, she pushed him away, hit him with clenched fists.

"You left me!" Her voice sounded shrill. "You left me here alone! How could you leave me?"

But he didn't answer, and before Snow could take hold of him, he melted into the darkness, vanishing without a trace. She was alone again, until the dark trees twisted into living shapes, things with gaping mouths and empty eyes. The malice of The Dark Forest hung heavy in the air; the rotten stench of death was everywhere.

A wolf howled, close by. Furious, wounded, alone.

Snow ran, the skeleton trees trying to snare her, pull her into a shallow grave. The beat of heavy wings followed and something inhuman screeched. Through her suffocating fear, one thought persisted: she had to find the beginning. She ran and ran, forever and always, until her tears froze on her cheeks. The sharp winter air prickled her skin like a needle.

There was no time, they were coming. Through the frost they rode, swords gleaming in the white.

Mother's callused hands were steady against her hair, the warm familiar body comforting. "Your beauty is all that can save you Ravenna." In her voice was knowledge, certainty, love. "This spell will make your beauty your power and protection." Mother took a knife and made a small cut into Ravenna's palm. It hardly stung. Three drops of blood fell to a bowl of milk, the red spreading against the white.

"By fairest blood it is done," mother said and handed her the bowl. "Here, drink, drink." Ravenna drank, the milk strangely sweet, as mother chanted the spell in the old, secret tongue. Her brother watched, afraid.

It was done, and mother stroked her cheek, eyes sad. "But be warned, by the fairest blood this spell can be undone."

Then there was no time; the men dragged her from mother's arms, the desperate cries following Ravenna as she was lifted onto a horse, the rider clenching her with hard, steely hands.

_Mother!_

Her cry was lost in the icy air, the deathly winter robbing her of voice, life, love.


	19. Chapter 19: Sacrifice

Chapter 19: Sacrifice

It was not yet pitch-black, but the grey, joyless dusk was rapidly darkening, hiding the world from human sight. The sharp senses of the wolf were not deceived by shapeless shadows; it could smell the death and decay, hear the restless fear of the horses and men. It was intrigued.

The wolf knew the place from before; the death it was shrouded in was familiar and slightly faded. However, there was a fresh scent now, a new death, the smell of blood strong and thick. And there was life, where there once was only silent emptiness. As it slunk closer to the husk of a village, now no more than a charred skeleton, the forms of life, with beating hearts, were silhouetted against the light of a campfire.

Men were gathered around the fire, smelling of blood and dirt and flesh. Their voices were gruff, with an underlying tension. Mostly they were silent, warming themselves against the chill of the approaching night, drinking and sharpening their weapons. The iron got the wolf's hackles up; it remembered the searing sting of a blade. The wolf crept silently closer, the burned ruins offering perfect cover, towards the more enticing prey. Just at the edge of the campfire were the horses, huddled together, tired and nervous. They couldn't smell the wolf yet, but maybe they still somehow _knew_. Knew that there were hungry, desperate creatures in the dark.

And the wolf was hungry and desperate. So very hungry.

Slowly, it crept closer still, not making a sound. When close enough, it could pounce on the horses, spook them away and chase one down before the men could catch up to the animals. It would be a risk worth taking. One of the men stood abruptly, and the wolf stopped, not moving a muscle. The man moved further away from the fire, getting behind a lone, partly collapsed wall. A moment later, the pungent smell of piss. The wolf considered him as a prey, how easy it would be to slink behind the man and drag him into darkness. But the horses were still a safer bet, and soon the man stumbled back to join his comrades, not knowing how close he had come to death.

On the way back to the campfire, the man stopped beside a blackened, burned trunk of a tree that had once stood proudly at the center of the village. There was a slumped figure leaning against it, smelling of blood and dirt and flesh and _weakness_. Interested, the wolf pricked up its ears, assessing. When the man kicked the figure, it gave a low moan, the sound full of pain. _A man, wounded_. The wolf suppressed its triumphant howl; those were the best prey.

Heart bounding with eagerness, the wolf waited. Soon the wounded man was alone by the tree trunk, blanketed in dusky shadows that crept to claim more space from the flickering firelight. The breathing of the six men sitting by the fire sounded loud in the silence; they were tired, but curiously resisting sleep. The wolf circled the men, sneaking from shadow to shadow, getting behind the partially collapsed wall. The blackened stone still smelled of fire. The wolf was now closer to the tree trunk than the campfire, its prey perfectly in sight.

The wounded man raised his head and looked straight at the wolf.

The wolf startled, and took an involuntary step back. The man's eyes were strangely familiar, and the clarity of hunt was muddled by confusing new impulses. The hunger faded into curiousness, a forceful need to know. The wolf took a step forward, now more intent on examining the man than eating him. But its movement was halted by the sudden ear-piercing shriek of a swarm of black ravens. The birds flew low over the destroyed village, circling the men by the fire and unnerving the horses, few of them settling on the tree trunk and pecking the wounded man once, twice.

But as suddenly as they had come, the birds flew back into the darkness with a rush of wings like a strong gust of wind tearing the trees. The sharp flap of wings didn't recede, but stayed in the peripheral of dark and dusk, the birds screaming horribly. Terrified, the horses tried to tug themselves free from their restraints; the men were all standing, frozen in terror; the wounded man struggled faintly against the robes that tied him to the tree; the wolf felt an overwhelming urgency to flee, but stayed instead. They all watched with dread as the shadows twisted and came together, formed into a black, monstrous shape.

The shape stepped from the dark and for a moment the flames of the campfire quivered as if in danger of going out. The shape turned into a woman, clad in a gown of sleek black feathers. She was still deathly beautiful, although her cheeks were sunken, her lips chapped, her eyes tired. Menace and horror clung to her like old, dear friends.

The men dropped to their knees, eyes on the ground.

"Where is my brother?" The woman said in a low-voice, her words slow and terrible.

"Your Majesty," one of the men, big and crude looking, started to answer hesitantly. "Your plan worked. The resistance tried to ambush us, but we were ready – we killed many of them. But…"

"But _what_?"

"Your brother…the huntsman killed him in the battle. We had to bury him with the others, least he attract beasts to our camp."

"Yes, God forbid you should have to chance the hunger of some terrible beasts," she sneered, her eyes gleaming with dark fury.

"My Queen, forgive us –" one of the men tried to say, but he was swiftly interrupted as the woman sidestepped the men and strode towards the burned tree trunk. The men scrambled to follow.

She stopped in front of the wounded man, looking at him coldly. "At least you managed to get my brother's killer." The prisoner lifted his head, the blood on his face strikingly red against his dirtied flesh. It was fresh; still flowing from the cut on his temple. The queen bent down slightly and touched the head wound with her fingers. "Does it hurt terribly?" She asked, almost gently. The man growled, trying to lean back from her touch. "If it doesn't yet –" She pushed her fingers hard against the cut, "– it will."

"And the rest of the resistance? The Duke's son?" The queen's voice was cutting, like shards of ice. The wolf shivered, fear and fury prickling its skin.

The men glanced furtively at each other, no one wanting to be the bearer of more bad news. Finally one of them said, "Only a few of them got away, the Duke's son with them – but he was badly injured."

"I wanted his _head_!" The sudden furious shriek made the horses whinny in near panic. The men shifted nervously on their feet, and the wolf could almost hear the fearful beat of their hearts. As abruptly as the shriek rose, it also died down, and when the queen next spoke, her voice was steady and controlled, though no less intimidating. "No matter, his end will come soon…and I must admit that this one…" Her finger drew a line through the blood on the prisoner's face. "…is quite adequate compensation, for I have long searched for him."

The man stared at the queen defiantly, but remained silent. Her fingers gripped his jaw and her voice turned almost intimate. "He defied my orders, took something that belonged to me…tried to run from my sight, hide it." He grimaced with pain and in disgust. "Such a foolish man," the queen whispered, her fingers continuing their travel downward, settling against his heart. "I wonder…what could have changed his heart so, that he abandoned his wife into the dark terror of untimely death?"

The prisoner flinched violently, but refused to answer. The woman smiled, and her smile was as distorted as her beauty; sleek and dazzling, but somehow wrong and unnatural. "Yes…one look at _her_ innocent eyes, those puckered lips, and the lost little princess has her protector. Did you think to have her? To safe her, to keep her to yourself?" The queen paused, and the silence was heavy with foreboding. Still, the man said nothing.

The queen withdrew her hand and straightened, towering above the prisoner. Her smile turned into a grim line. "People would rather worship at her feet than be governed by me…" She sounded indignant, almost puzzled. "Such loyalty…what has she ever done to deserve it?"

The wounded man gave a low, hacking laugh, "Well, for starters, she hasn't…made them starve, hasn't burned their homes or – or killed their loved ones."

"I am their just queen," the woman said coldly, "the price for rebellion and disrespect is whatever I deem fit."

The wolf was restless; it wanted to back away and it wanted to sneak closer still. The scene before its eyes was strangely arresting and yet so devastating that distressed, the wolf felt the deep urge to howl in sadness and pain.

"Where is _she_?" The voice was quiet, but still the question seemed to suck all the light from the world. The campfire hissed like a snake, the flames receding towards ground, looking for a place to hide. A raven cawed, flew to sit on the queen's shoulder. She caressed its dark wing.

The prisoner stared at the ground, stubbornly silent once again.

"If you tell me where she is…all is forgiven. I can heal you, make the pain go away. Reunite you with your wife. But only if you tell me."

Silence.

The queen sighed, annoyed, "Come now, I tire of this game."

The man shook his head, rasped, "I'll never tell you, never."

She stooped down, her face inches away from his. "You know I'll find her…sooner or later. Why not make things easier for yourself, Huntsman?" He stared defiantly back at her, eyes half-hidden by strands of dirty hair, matted with blood. "Never," he repeated, steadfast. It sounded like a solemn vow, a holy prayer, a true promise. It made the wolf's heart beat stronger, wilder.

"No doubt you believe it…" A pale hand settled against the man's heart. "But I wonder – how strong is your heart?" The queen pressed her hand harder against the other's flesh, her sharp nails digging into the torn leather vest like talons into a prey.

First, the man twitched slightly, then more violently. His face distorted with pain as he tried to draw air hurriedly, desperately. An involuntary moan escaped him; he shook as if the air was deathly cold, freezing his bones. "Never…" the man panted, "_never_." The queen laughed and didn't stop, didn't let go of his heart, squeezing harder.

Breath wheezing, the man shivered uncontrollably, the color of his face turning from pallid to deathly pale. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, just an unintelligible groan. Still the woman squeezed, a grotesque smile on her face. The wolf whined; death was coming, the dark rushing to claim the prisoner.

With a deep furious howl, the wolf pounced from its hiding place and came to stand a few yards away from the queen and her men, bearing its teeth in warning.

For a moment everyone was too stunned to react; then the men started to reach for their weapons, and the queen let go of the wounded man, turning to face the wolf. The prisoner slumped like a ragdoll and was too still and quiet; he didn't seem to be breathing. The wolf whimpered.

One of the men drew his bow, ready to shoot. Others raised their swords.

"Wait," The queen's command was absolute. She looked at the wolf, meeting its eyes with her intense gaze, the blackness of the pupils spreading like spilled ink. At her feet the man suddenly shuddered and drew a small, weak breath. The relief it – she – felt was so immense it broke the tattered veil apart. "_You_," the queen said, sounding astonished and satisfied at the same time.

What remained of the wolf was pushed back, somewhere deep into the recess of its own mind, and Snow felt fully conscious of her surroundings, of the movements of her four legs, the strong smells teasing her nose, her keen sight penetrating the darkness.

Snow could see and hear and smell _Eric_; he was alive. He was terribly hurt, but alive. The joy and despair threatened to overwhelm her, and she shook, wanting desperately to go to him.

_Impressive_, the queen said, although her lips didn't move. Her voice echoed slightly, like in an empty cave. _Where are you? _

Heart beating furiously, Snow stood her ground. Steeled herself. She couldn't be afraid.

_Your protector has been most troublesome…_The hunger in Ravenna's eyes burned brightly, impatient. She didn't look away from Snow, not for a second. _What ever shall I do with him?_

Snow had her answer ready. _Spare him. His life for my heart. _

Ravenna smiled. _Done._

-o-

Snow gasped for air. She folded up, retching violently. Something foul made its way up her throat, agonizingly slow. Struggling to expunge the rotten lump, Snow spit and vomited painfully, throat threatening to close up. Finally she felt empty, panting like after a great race, disorientated. Her hands were all that were holding her up, the hard rock solid beneath her fingers.

Right in front of her was a pile of vomit; it looked like blood and tar. A little to the left, something gleamed in the flickering torchlight. A small glass vial.

Snow took a deep breath, trying to settle her frantically beating heart. She was by the pool again; sitting just as she had when she had taken Moira's potion. She was herself again, alone.

_Eric_. The fear and worry twisted her insides and she shook terribly, the memory of his deathly pale face, his twitching body, spreading a chill over her flesh. Trembling, she let two shuddering sobs escape her, keening like an animal; the sound was loud in the cave, unrecognizable. He had nearly died. He could die still.

Then she pushed her tears back; pushed every fear and doubt and panicky thought to the farthest corner of her mind, behind steel doors, out of sight. Another deep breath, her heart beating slower, calmer. Snow knew what to do. She had seen enough; everything she needed to know. It was all connected – blood and death and hearts and love.

Snow pushed herself to her feet, swaying a little. She thought that only a little while had passed since her taking the potion, because the torch was still burning brightly and no one had apparently come to look for her. And yet, it had felt like forever. Like every one of those dreams or visions or memories had lasted a lifetime.

Someday, she would think about what she had seen, what it had all really meant. She would recall her mother's face in that white garden, repeat her words. Wonder about mothers and daughters; spells and sacrifices. But now she didn't have the time for any of it. She would use what she could – there was no other way.

It would be dark outside, but that would not stop her.

She had an exchange to make.


	20. Chapter 20: Close

Chapter 20: Close

The dark of the night had turned into a bleak day that had changed into darkness again; now the first moments of a hesitant morning hovered just around a corner. The dusky small hours slowly turned gray and the surrounding landscape revealed itself, quietly emerging from the night like from a deep slumber. The shapes of hills and rocks and trees became solid and familiar again, still and silent in the half-asleep world. All seemed to be holding their breath with Snow. It wouldn't be long now – with the coming day they would finally arrive to Moorland, or what was left of the burned village.

Snow had relentlessly pushed them onward, only taking as many breaks to rest as the horses needed. She had even stubbornly left the caves the very night of her visions, not willing to wait for the far-off daybreak. In vain Thomas had argued against venturing into the night, the secret rocky path from the caves through the mountain not the least dangerous part of the journey and a sheer folly to navigate in the dark. To Snow however, the risk of waiting was far greater. Every moment she feared that she would be too late, that Ravenna would change her mind, get bored waiting for Snow to arrive – anything could happen. Snow could not wait.

Luckily Gavin, who knew the terrain better than anyone, with the aid of a lit torch had managed to get them and the horses safely out of the mountain paths. After that the hours and landscapes had blurred together as they furiously rode and stopped for a brief rest, rode and stopped again and again, in a seemingly endless pattern. Now they had stopped for the last time, Thomas insisting that they had to get a little shut-eye, to be better prepared for whatever lay ahead. But Snow wasn't tired; she was too afraid, too tensed up and nervous to succumb to exhaustion. She went over her plan over and over again, thinking of anything that might happen and how she should act in every situation. She would be ready for everything, although there would be depressingly little she could do if her initial plan wouldn't work out the way she had envisioned.

Snow recalled the silent words she had exchanged with Ravenna while being in the skin of a wolf, reassuring herself that the queen wanted her above all else. She would wait for her in the burned village; she would give Eric to her alive, like promised. Anything else was unthinkable. _Please, _she pleaded, _just let him live. I don't ask for anything more – ever again. Just let him live. _

Impatient, Snow shifted restlessly on the damp ground. Surely they had rested enough? She cast an eye over her companions, feeling a pang of guilt. Thomas was sitting on a rock, eyes closed but still looking tense and very much aware of his surroundings. Gavin on the other hand lay flat on the ground, having claimed that he couldn't sit another minute. Both men had accompanied her without hesitation, although what she intended to do was crazy at best and suicidal at worst. They were such good friends. If there had been a way to free Eric without endangering them, she would have taken it. But there was no conceivable way for Snow to beat both Ravenna and the six soldiers that were with her, not by herself. And if things didn't go as she had planned…she needed them to take care of Eric, to make sure he got away while she kept her side of the bargain.

Still, there would only be the three of them and an injured Eric against six soldiers and a witch queen who supposedly couldn't be killed. The odds certainly seemed against them. But what else could Snow have done? William and his men hadn't returned; if what Snow had heard in her vision was true, then most of them were dead and William badly hurt. For a while Snow had entertained the hope of meeting the remains of the party on the way to the village, but it had proved to be a wishful notion. As Thomas had said to her, when Snow had expressed her wish, the survivors would know better than to head straight for the mines. They would seek shelter elsewhere, not willing to lead any potential pursuers to the secret hideout. They could not be counted on to magically appear to offer some help. As for the rest of the resistance waiting in the mines – even if they had been ready to accompany Snow to this mad venture, it would have been impossible. William's party had taken most of the horses; only four remained. One horse for each of them, and the last one left behind, in case the folk back in the mines needed to send out a messenger or a scout.

Snow could still see the looks on their faces, full of resignation and sadness, as the three of them had left the mines. She had realized that the people didn't expect them to return, that they thought the whole thing was doomed to fail, that there would be no way for them to succeed. Only Beth had tried to be supportive, telling them not to linger on the way back, as she would only keep the supper ready for them so many days. But as she had kissed Thomas goodbye, Snow had seen how her slight frame had trembled and how her watery smile had started to crumble. The guilt Snow had felt then had been enormous, but still nothing compared to her need to confront Ravenna and save Eric. As they had led the horses away from the clearing, the darkness hadn't been able to conceal the faces of the people bidding them goodbye. They had looked as if they were watching the dead.

Who could blame them? First there were the visions Snow had seen – were they true or nothing more than fanciful dreams concocted by Moira's odd elixirs? Snow knew they were the truth, what had been and what were and what was to come. She _knew_ it in her bones, like one knows that the summer follows the winter and the dawn comes after the night. But she could understand if for others it was harder to believe; they only had her telling of it. And that led to the second, more crucial point: how could they bet their lives, the future of the resistance on the off chance that the visions were not only true but that Snow had interpreted them right? They had all already lost so much in the fight against Ravenna, now Snow was taking the best of their last men to a certain death as well. She felt selfish, for she was willing to accept their sacrifice to prevent her own terrible loss. However, she was fully prepared to sacrifice her own life as well.

That didn't mean she wouldn't fight to the last breath.

Snow drew her long knife from its sheath, the movement feeling now, after endless rehearsals, more natural to her. She remembered how Eric had given her the knife with a dead man's belt and coat, offering the boots as well. It seemed so long ago, but it hadn't even been two months since that day. They had been in a very different place then; they had been strangers to each other. And now…he was everything. Snow examined the blade, the dried reddish-brown blood covering the tip. She had never killed anyone.

As she raised her eyes from the weapon, Snow met Thomas' gaze. He was watching her intently, face grave. He had believed her, had been willing to try. Even now, there was no regret or doubt in his eyes.

"We are close," he said with a steady voice, "an hour of riding at most. Are you ready?"

"I am." She was ready. There was no going back; nothing could have made her turn away from Eric.

"Okay," Gavin sprang to his feet, stretching his limbs, "let's go raise some hell then." He checked his many weapons, as he had done every time they had continued their journey after a brief rest. Thomas was already reading his horse and Snow hurried to follow.

In no time at all they were on their way, riding towards an uncertain fate.

-o-

It was unnerving to enter the ravaged village. They approached its center carefully, and with every step the unease and anticipation grew. The charred remains were uncannily familiar, the faint smell of smoke expected. It was just like it had been in her vision, so much so that for a moment Snow was afraid she had never woken up in the first place. What if this was just another dream?

Snow bit her lip, the sudden pain clearing her head. It wasn't the time to succumb to doubts and fears and tiredness. Eyes fixed ahead, ears straining, her heart picked up its pace with every step she took. She knew what lay ahead of them, in the center of the village; her greatest nightmare and her greatest hope. Snow was so focused on the destination that she almost missed it, when Thomas signaled Gavin to pick an observation spot. They had discussed it earlier and decided that Gavin would stay behind to observe the happenings, not letting anyone sneak behind them, ready to cover them with his bow. Now he darted behind some charred logs, giving them a grin, thrusting his thumb up in the universal sign of "I'm fine here – let's do this". Thomas and Snow continued onwards, weapons at hand but not drawn.

The first thing that Snow noticed was that the campfire was still burning. The second was that Eric was still tied to the tree trunk. For a moment Snow wanted nothing more than to run to Eric's side, to make sure he was alright. He was so close – it was agony to tear her eyes away from him, to ignore him. Snow forced herself to concentrate on the others at the scene. The soldiers stood in readiness, two of them guarding the huntsman. Their arrival had clearly been expected. The men were silent and alert, but confident. They didn't consider Snow and the two resistance fighters to be any great threat.

Ravenna sat by the fire, eyes fixed on the flames. Snow was startled – for a heartbeat she looked like an old woman, weary and worn, grey hair a messy bundle on her head. She was nothing like Snow had expected; she reminded her of the old woman in her visions, the mother. Then Ravenna raised her eyes and looked straight at Snow, her look cold and terrible and triumphant. And Snow remembered the terror and the dread the queen had always awoken in her; the same horror was now clawing at her insides, threatening to unravel her outward calm. Snow pushed it back urgently, breathing deep. She would not give into fear.

The queen rose, the black feathers of her gown gleaming in the firelight. The old woman had vanished; she looked once again regal, imposing, domineering. Snow shuddered and forced herself to hold Ravenna's gaze. She would never cower.

"I said she would come, did I not?" Ravenna's icy voice seemed to ring through the whole village, breaking the silence. As intended, it roused Eric from his half-unconsciousness, and he fought to open his eyes, clearly dazed and alarmed. Snow's heart ached. _It will be alright._

"You brought friends," Ravenna said, sounding amused. "Not trusting me to hold my end of the bargain?"

"They are here to make sure Eric gets safely out of this place."

Hearing Snow's voice seemed to jolt Eric into alertness; his eyes flew open, the slightly unfocused gaze searching, until finally finding – "Snow," he gasped, horrified. "No, no, _no_." He started to struggle against his bonds, frantically trying to break free of the ropes that tied him to the tree. The guards let him try; his feeble attempts were completely futile.

Snow couldn't help but say, "Eric – Eric! It's alright." She wanted to go to him so badly, wanted to kiss him, feel his heart beat against her own. To think that maybe she never would again – it was unbearable.

"Hell it is!" Eric growled. "Thomas! Get her away from here, now!"

Thomas didn't say anything, only looked at the huntsman, eyes sympathetic. That just made Eric more furious. "Thomas!" He barked, voice hoarse with pain and barely suppressed fear, "Are you insane?! I swear, if you don't –"

"How touching," Ravenna mocked, "but utterly futile." She seemed to be enjoying the situation; there was a deep satisfaction on her countenance, a certainty that everything was happening as she wanted. It stoked Snow's anger, made her clench her fists. Ravenna continued with a silky voice, mock-compassionate, "She has traded her heart for your life, huntsman; it must be real _love_." The word love sounded like hate, and the queen's smile was filled with cold calculation and complacency.

"_No_!" Eric looked half-mad with anguish and desperation. _It's alright Love, trust me, _Snow wanted to say, but swallowed her words. It was painful to not offer Eric any assurance, but some words were not meant for everyone's ears.

"Enough," Ravenna commanded. "Let's finish this." For the first time, there was a hint of impatience in her voice. She looked hungry, tired of waiting for the feast to begin.

Snow steeled herself, made herself deaf for Eric's denials and pleas. She looked at the queen, trying to look resolute, unbending. "Let him go first."

Ravenna sighed, as if the whole thing was tedious. Her eyes however, bored into Snow, sharp and assessing. Snow stood her ground, hiding her nervousness. She _had_ to let Eric go first.

"You will not try to flee," the queen stated, her eyes narrowing. "Not that you could."

"No," Snow promised truthfully.

"Let him go," Ravenna ordered the soldiers, her gaze never leaving Snow, like a predator keeping its whole focus on its prey.

One of the men cut Eric's ropes; another dragged him to his feet. He staggered for an instant and then lurched suddenly towards Snow. But the soldiers were ready, and he hadn't gotten but a few steps forward, when they restrained him again and pushed him into Thomas, who had quickly strode towards the huntsman. He was wise enough to immediately take hold of Eric, not letting go of him. Eric struggled, but was clearly too weak and exhausted to tear himself free from Thomas' strong grip.

"Let me go!"

"Let her do what must be done."

"Snow, _please_ –"

"Come," Ravenna said.

Snow couldn't look at Eric – couldn't be distracted, couldn't _feel_. Slowly, she started to walk towards the woman who had killed her father, imprisoned her for years, destroyed her life. She felt curiously numb. This was the moment she had been waiting for, what she had feared and dreamed for so long. Finally, it would all end.

The walk to the other side of the campfire was the longest and the shortest of Snow's life. She had time to think about every dream she had ever had, to dream about all the futures she had envisioned, to remember the half-forgotten past, now more sweet than bitter. And yet it was no time at all – too soon she was only a few yards away from Ravenna, who was watching her every move hungrily.

Snow clutched at the hilt of her knife, a little amazed that she hadn't been ordered to give it up. Ravenna's eyes settled on the weapon and she smirked. Her message couldn't have been clearer: she was humoring Snow. The knife – nor any weapon for that matter – posed no threat to her. Snow was welcome to try to stop her, but she would unavoidably fail.

And of course Snow would try, for she had never intended to give up without a fight. Finally close enough, her hands sweaty, she tugged at the hilt. But Ravenna was too fast, and with eyes burning with triumph, lips drawn in satisfaction, the queen yanked Snow closer, her grip unnaturally strong. Closer still, until Snow was almost pressed against her, could feel Ravenna's breath on her face. Snow tried to desperately draw her knife, but her hands felt suddenly limp, fingers nerveless. Her heart was thudding painfully, contracting as if all the blood were slowly being drawn from it. Someone was pricking her with a thousand needles, and every moment it was harder to breathe until she couldn't anymore.

The hesitant light of dawn dwindled away, the morning reversing into night. For a moment Snow was confused, until she realized that she was dying – she had ended up upholding her part of the exchange after all.

_I'm so sorry Love, _she thought, _but you will be alright._

-o-

_In this part of the story I am the one who_

_Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,_

_Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood._

- Pablo Neruda -


	21. Chapter 21: Heart

This is the last chapter - I can't believe that after a year writing this, the story has come to the end. This is the longest story I have ever written, and although sometimes I despaired over the plot or the characters or whatever else, I am so glad to have finished this. Thank you all so much for reading this story and for sending me your lovely reviews. I hope the ending is as good as you deserve.

* * *

Chapter 21: Heart

Unlike in nothingness, there was life in the dark. A small beat of a heart, refusing to stop. A memory, words so clear it felt they were spoken right against her ear. _Wait until they are close. _

She was close now, wasn't she?

Another beat of a heart, fainter. She was so tired and cold. Maybe it had been snowing, red blood against white.

_You drive it through their heart to the hilt._ Metal against her palm, sharp.

_You look in their eyes, and do not pull it out until you see their soul. _

The words vanished, the familiar comforting voice leaving her alone into the silent darkness. She had jumped to the sea once. Maybe she was at the bottom of the ocean.

I can, she thought. Not until I see their soul.

_I can. _

This was not death. She had promised to fight. She _would_ fight.

-o-

Snow clawed her way out of the darkness with ferocious will, reached for the surface like a drowning man, with all she had, the last reserves of her strength and heart. The harder she fought, the faster the world rushed in, bringing with it the ever-increasing pain. She could feel Ravenna; her icy touch penetrating flesh and bone, hungry for her heart. It was poison in her veins, freezing the blood, stealing all the warmth.

But she was so close now; they were still locked in a parody of embrace. And with numb fingers, she was still inexplicably clutching the knife – she had never let go of it.

Snow reached the surface, and as she opened her eyes she was already thrusting the blade into Ravenna's heart. The metal went in surprisingly easy, sinking deep. It felt odd that after all, the queen was only flesh and blood, quietly gasping in pain. They both trembled, clutched at one another. Snow raised her eyes and met Ravenna's gaze. She looked surprised and perplexed, until slowly, understanding dawned as she drew wet, horribly scratchy breaths, struggling against the inevitable. Then she only looked small.

There was shouting, and somewhere behind Snow, the sounds of scuffle. She didn't turn around, couldn't think of anything else but keeping hold of the knife, still pressing it in, deeper, and looking at Ravenna's eyes. Watching as her soul fled.

But first went her power; her poison retreating from Snow, the ice thawing. It felt like Snow could breathe again, after suffocating slowly for years. Then all the color escaped; the queen's skin and lips whitened, the fair hairs turned grey. The green irises were covered with a coating of milk, the black pupils contracting. The youth fled next, the smooth skin wrinkling and stretching, the whole proud body bending and stooping under the onslaught of age. In a matter of seconds, it seemed Ravenna had lived a hundred years. Or more accurately, she was now paying for having lived those years seemingly unmarked. The death always took its own.

Metal clanged, someone swore, horses whinnied. Still, Snow did not turn. She had done this, she was still holding the knife; she had to watch, until it had ended.

Ravenna's mouth moved, but no sound came out. She curled up, ever smaller, finally relinquishing her hold on Snow. She slumped to her knees and Snow had to follow, still clutching the hilt of the blade with numb fingers.

Death sounded and looked horrible, but when it finally took what was owed to it, it did it swiftly and quietly. Ravenna's eyes clouded over, her stare became unseeing. The lungs stopped trying to draw air and the heart ceased to pump blood. The body was just that; a string of bones held together by weary flesh and sinew. Life or soul or spark – or whatever one wanted to call it – was gone. The struggle was over.

Snow released the knife, leaving it where it was buried in Ravenna's chest. She didn't want to touch it. The enormity of the situation was too big for her to grasp. She couldn't think – it felt all too unreal. Had she really succeeded? Had she really killed someone – was Ravenna really dead?

"Move!" Someone shouted, breathless and urgent. "Snow, dodge!"

Purely on instinct Snow rolled to the side as the rest of the world rushed in. A sword swung through the space where she had just been. The weapon belonged to one of the soldiers, who stumbled, when the force of his blow met only air. The man straightened himself immediately, but by then it was too late; Thomas had slashed him with his sword, once, twice, and the soldier slumped to the ground, lying still next to his queen.

Snow took in the situation quickly: three soldiers dead, Gavin fighting another one, Eric wheeling around to confront two others, looking terrible but still somehow upright, clutching a sword. Thomas yanked her from the ground, and for a small moment Snow thought her legs wouldn't carry her, but the world didn't tilt, the ground didn't shook, and her feet found purchase.

"Take cover," Thomas ordered, pushing her away from all the fighting, towards the nearest ruins of a burned house. Snow, however, was having none of it. Didn't they know that it was all over?

"It's over!" She screamed, her voice hoarse. "Your queen is dead! She is _dead_!" Suddenly her heart started to hammer painfully in her chest, and she felt nauseous, sick to her stomach. Ravenna was dead. Snow had killed her. And she was terribly, tremendously, furiously relieved – and glad.

Gavin and the man he was fighting didn't stop their brutal exchange of blows, but the two other soldiers paused. They looked at Ravenna and their slain comrades, and Snow could see the confusion, the fear on their faces. The impossible had happened; the immortal queen had been killed. Not liking their chances, both men suddenly bolted for the horses.

Thomas moved to stop them, deaf to Snow's faint, "Don't." But the soldiers were already mounted, and Thomas couldn't do anything but swear as they rode rapidly away, as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. He reached for the reins of the nearest horse, but then seemed to change his mind, turning back towards the others.

Snow looked at Eric; he was standing still, the sword hanging limply from his hand. He was watching her and breathing deeply. Snow tried to smile.

There was only one pair of men left fighting; Gavin and his opponent, and they seemed oblivious to all else. For a moment it seemed that neither man had the upper hand, but then Gavin gave a vicious blow with his fist and the other man dropped to the ground. Gavin kicked the man's weapon away and at the same time raised his sword –

"Stop!" Snow's shout was so unexpected that Gavin halted, flummoxed. "Don't, it's over now." She took a step towards him, her voice unintentionally commanding. Gavin seemed to hesitate, the blade only inches from the soldier's neck. The man on the ground didn't dare to move. Snow stepped closer still.

"It's all over now," she said to the soldier, "Go. Go back and tell them the queen is dead." Nothing happened for a moment; both men were transfixed, the executioner and the convicted. Then slowly, Gavin relented and withdrew just a little, letting the soldier get up. The man looked at Snow, distrusting and nervous.

"Go," Snow commanded. The man didn't need to be told again; he ran away, not even trying to take a horse.

"I hope you know what you are doing," Gavin grumbled, but Snow wasn't listening. Eric was still standing in the same spot, unmoving. His sword clattered to the ground.

"Eric –"

Finally, his legs gave out and the huntsman collapsed to his knees. Snow was already running towards him; she sank next to him, taking hold of his shoulders, not letting his exhausted body thump to the hard ground.

"Eric!" Frantic, she tried to assess his wounds. The bleeding from the head wound had petered out, but had he lost too much blood already? Did he have some other wounds? "Where are you hurt?" Her anxious hands searched for any tears of clothing, for any fresh blood.

"Snow," Eric's hands took hold of her fingers, making them stay still. "That was – I can't believe you came here – that was so stupid!" He squeezed her hands, his eyes never leaving her face; as if he wanted to reassure himself that she was really there. "What did you think you were doing? You could have – you almost died! And for what?" He sounded genuinely baffled and angry, but Snow could also see the fear and relief evident on his face.

"Hush now, I need to look where you are hurt," Snow murmured and gently drew her hands away from his, continuing to pat him down, looking for places where he might be hurt. Eric seemed dumbfounded, all his arguments vanishing in the face of her determined calm. "Just cuts and bruises," he mumbled, "the head wound looks worse than it is…made me a little woozy, and I haven' had any water or food…"

"Gavin, bring me a water bottle," Snow said and touched Eric's forehead with careful fingers. The wound had partially closed up, sealed with crusted blood. Someone nudged her shoulder and Snow turned her head to see Gavin offering a water bottle. She took it with a grateful smile, uncapping the bottle and settling it on Eric's lips. He drank greedily, sighing in content. The bottle was soon empty.

"You're welcome, huntsman," Gavin said, humor in his voice.

Eric lifted his head and looked at the man, scowling. "Don't think that I won't have words with you – you _and_ Thomas – for letting her come here."

"I thought you had already learned that no one is ´letting´ her do anything," Gavin laughed. "And for the record – I fear her much more than you!" He sounded uncommonly cheerful. "She just saved your sorry ass – and killed the freaking witch!"

"That she did," Eric said quietly. Snow couldn't parse the emotion in his voice, was it – could it be pride?

As if by mutual agreement, all their eyes turned towards the former queen. Thomas was standing only a few yards away from Ravenna, staring at her corpse, a stunned expression on his face. "She really is dead," he said wonderingly, as if talking to himself. "What now?"

Snow closed her eyes against the blinding joy and clutched at Eric. _Now_, she thought, _we live_.

-o-

They didn't want to stay long in the destroyed village. Although it was unlikely that the soldiers would come back any time soon with reinforcements, they didn't want to take any chances. Furthermore, none of them wanted to stay longer than necessary in a place that had seen so much violence and tragedy, or to spend any more time with the dead – with Ravenna's withered body. Quickly, they tended to Eric's wounds, making sure he was fit to ride, and buried the dead in a shallow grave at Snow's insistence. They took whatever supplies they needed that the soldiers had left behind, including all the remaining horses. It was not yet midday, when they rode away. None of them looked back.

In the evening they stopped, deciding to spend the night resting, confident that no one was following or knew where they were headed. It was yet a full day of riding to the mines, and they were all tired to the point of exhaustion. The suspenseful, hard ride to the village and the short but brutal fight had taken their toll on Snow, Gavin and Thomas. Eric on the other hand, despite his numerous denials, was still suffering from his captivity and wounds, though none were serious.

They settled on a nice, sheltered area, and soon everyone but Gavin, who had taken the first watch, was snuggled down contently on their makeshift beds. Snow pressed her eyes closed, willing the darkness to calm her raging thoughts. But it was impossible; everything that had happened, all the desperation and fear and relief and disbelief were clamoring for her attention. She shifted restlessly for a time, and then having made up her mind, rose up to check on the horses.

Snow passed Gavin silently, not bothering to explain herself. The horses were huddled together, their bodies emitting warmth. Snow stroked their silky coat, drinking in the calm and peace that surrounded the trusting animals. One of the mares, a beautiful brown one that had belonged to one of the soldiers, nudged her shoulder, making Snow smile. She whispered nonsense to its attentive ears, promising treats when they were back home.

"Making new friends?" Snow didn't startle, when the huntsman managed to silently appear next to her; she had rather expected it. Eric's form, although half-concealed by the darkness, was familiar and solid, an anchor.

"Hmm," Snow hummed, feeling suddenly content. She continued to stroke the mare, but her whole being was wholly conscious of Eric's nearness. Their separation finally over, she now felt his presence almost too keenly; it was a heady drug.

"Are you…" Eric sounded oddly hesitant. "Are you alright? What Ravenna did to you…" His voice was almost a whisper; the words petered out into the darkness.

Snow thought about his question; thought about how Ravenna had tried to draw all life from her, and how she had turned the tables and killed her. "I am," she said. Then, more truthfully, "I will be."

His hand found hers in the dark, the callused fingers squeezing gently. He felt the cloth that she had wrapped around her palm, and asked, "Your hand…I meant to ask earlier, who cut it?" The frown he was undoubtedly sporting was evident in his voice.

"I did." Before Eric could raise more questions, Snow tugged at his hand. "Let's talk a little further away from the camp, I don't want to bother the others."

"Please do," Gavin's sleepy voice came from the dark, "and if you are both going to be awake, then I'll go to sleep." Without any further ado, they heard him settle down to his sleeping place. Eric, still holding Snow's hand, led her a short way from the camp, his feet sure in the dark. They sat down on some rocks, facing each other.

"I had a plan you know," Snow said, suddenly wanting him to know she hadn't been acting as thoughtlessly as he had accused. "I finally saw the missing pieces of the dream. How Ravenna's village was attacked, when she was young. It was not her fault –not at the beginning. Her mother wanted to only save her." She paused, seeing the scene once again in her mind's eye. The snow, the milk, the desperation of a mother.

"So she made a spell that her daughter would never age, never lose her beauty. But there was a catch." He was quiet, listening carefully. They were still holding hands; Snow didn't think she could let go anytime soon. "There always is. She made the spell with Ravenna's blood, and with another's blood the spell could be undone. My blood." She recalled the moment, when she had understood it all; the hope she had hardly dared to feel, the sadness in the face of so much tragedy. How it all had begun out of love, and how it would end because of love. How she and Ravenna were truly connected after all.

"I knew then, I was the only one that could kill her. But I didn't know if it needed to be _literally_ my blood, so I cut my palm and coated the knife with the blood, just in case." His thump caressed the cut on her hand gently, making it tingle faintly. Snow swallowed, and forced herself to continue. "I saw you – how Ravenna was ready to kill you, and I couldn't – I knew she would let me get close to her, and she did. She didn't think that anybody could hurt her."

For a while they sat in silence, the touch of their hands starting to fill all the empty spaces their separation had ripped open wide.

Then Eric said, voice hoarse from emotion, "I know you had to confront her, but you should have waited until you had more backup, until the situation was more to your advantage."

Snow stared at him, uncomprehending. "I could _not _have waited! She would have killed you!"

"Yeah, well…you don't owe me anything."

"Owe you!? You think I did this because I believe I owe you something?" Her volume was rising, but she didn't care if the whole world heard; she had never been this incensed. "_You_ – you are such an idiot! I did it because I love you and because the mere thought of you dying is enough to shatter me!"

Furious, Snow jumped to her feet, trying to withdraw her hand from his. He didn't let go of her, pulled her tight against him instead. Despite herself, Snow wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing deeper into him even when she was still berating him, "How can you not know? You are _everything_. I can't –"

"I know, I know," Eric whispered against her neck, "I do know, dearheart. But sometimes it makes me stupid…makes me afraid."

"Why?" Snow asked, curious.

"Because there is so much to lose. I never thought I could have this again, that I would –"

"Tell me, please." Her heart was beating against his, beating as one.

"My heart is yours, everything I am, everything I have – which is not much, I know." Snow was ready to scold him – he had so much to give, more than he could possibly know – but Eric was already continuing, his voice growing stronger, "But if you'll have me – if you'll have me, I promise to always be by your side, to love you better and longer than anyone, beyond the end of everything. That I'll swear."

"I accept." Snow smiled, her love beyond measure. The future lay open before them, full of endless possibilities – only one thing was constant; wherever the road would lead, they would go there together.

"Thank you," Eric whispered against her ear. The rest of the words were not said, but Snow could hear them anyway. _Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me a chance. Thank you for loving me. _

Then finally, _finally_, he kissed her deep.

And never stopped.

-o-

THE END


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